REAL    RUSSIANS 


Tm.     Pol.riK  AL    PrISON1:R.  [/>'r  Varoslienko. 


Frontispiece, 


Owing  to  the  Author's  absence  from  England  while  the  book 
was  passing  through  the  press  the  following  errors  have  crept 
in  : — 

Page  86 — Read    "  The    Sanctuary    Gates    of    the    St.     Isaac's 
Cathedral." 

Page  g6~~Read   "  Interior  of   the    Central  Depot   of   the   Red 
Cross  in  Petrograd." 

Page  152 — Read  "Army"  instead  of   "St.  George"  and  "its" 
instead  of  "his." 

Page  216 — Omit  "Interior." 

On    list  of  Contents   read  "at  one  time   British  Ambassador," 
after  Sir  Arthur  Nicholson. 


ThI.     TolJl  U  AL    PkISONKR,  U^y  Yaroslimko. 


Frontispiece, 


REAL  RUSSIANS 


By 

SONIA    E.    HOWE 

Author  of  "  A  Thousand  Years  of  Russian   History," 

"Some  Russian   Heroes,  Saints  and  Sinners," 

"  The  False  Dmitri." 


ILLUSTRATED 


PHILADELPHIA  : 

J.    B.    LIPPINGOTT    COMPANY 

LONDON    AND    EDINBURGH: 

SAMPSON    LOW,    MARSTON    &    CO.,    LTD. 

1918. 


DEDICATION. 


I   DEDICATE   THIS   BOOK 

TO   ALL 

RUSSIAN   POLITICAL   EXILES, 

NOW   HAPPILY   FREE. 


•fW'I^M 


CONTENTS. 

Foreword  by  Lord  Carnock  (formerly  Sir  Arthur 
Nicholson),  Ambassador  in  Petrograd. 

Introduction. 

Chapter  P*°^ 

I.      How   IT   CAME    ABOUT    THAT   I    WENT   TO 

Russia i 

II.    Conflicting  Impulses 6 

III.  Home  Again        9 

IV.  Disappointed  Heroes i3 

V.    Waiting  Women  . .         •  •         . .  20 

VI.    Evensong   in   the   Railway   Station 

OF  Smolensk 25 

VII.    Not  Expected 32 

VIII.    Some  Contented  Prisoners  of  War  35 

IX.    Heavy  Hearts 38 

X.    The  Worst  of  Russian  Roads         . .  39 
XI.    A    Visit    to    the    Troitsa-Sergei 

Lavra 42 

XII.    A  Link 57 

XIII.  Speed  and  Success       58 

XIV,  Interviews  WITH  Cabinet  Ministers.  .  62 
XV.    An  Interesting  Hour             . .         . .  69 


VIU. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

XVI.  Something,  but  not  Everything 

HAD    BEEN    DONE 

XVII.  A  Conscientious  Objector.. 

XVIII.  In  German  Prison  Camps   . . 

XIX.  The    St.    Isaac's    Cathedral   of 

Petrograd  . . 

XX.  Petitioners  All 

XXI.  Two  Generals 

XXII.  Dejected  Recruits 

XXIII.  A  Magnificent  Institution 

XXIV.  A  Minister  apparently  both  able 

and  willing  to  help 

XXV.     Reservists  in  the  Hermitage 

XXVI.    Amongst  Russian  Working  People 
ON  A  Sunday 

XXVII.     Prohibition 

XXVIII.    The  Festival  of  the  St.  George's 

Cavaliers 

XXIX.    True  Humanity 

XXX.    The    Common    Occurrence    of    a 
Change  of  Ministers 

XXXI.  Russian  Birches       

XXXII.  Some  Travelling  Experiences     . . 

XXXIII.  Delight  to  the  Eyes 

XXXIV.  Kiev 

XXXV.  In  Kiev  and  Moghilev 

XXXVI.    At  Tsarskoe  Selo 

XXXVII.    A  Joyful  Surprise    . . 


Page 

72 
76 
80 

83 

88 
92 

94 
96 

105 
109 

III 
116 

118 
121 

123 
126 
129 

138 
138 
140 
146 
150 


CONTENTS. 

IX. 

Chapter 

Page 

XXXVIII. 

Verified  Facts          

155 

XXXIX. 

A  Grand  Old  Man 

157 

XL. 

The  Birds  had  Flown 

162 

XLI. 

Some    Military    Hospitals— good. 

BAD,  and  indifferent 

167 

XLII. 

Merely  a  Cossack    . . 

175 

XLIII. 

In  A  Petrograd  Tram 

176 

XLIV. 

Impressions  of  Russian  Soldiers 

177 

XLV. 

Petrograd's  Cabdrivers  of  To-day 

183 

XLVI. 

IZVOSHTCHIK   and   FaRE 

188 

XLVII. 

The  Alexander  Nevski  Lavra     . . 

193 

XLVIII. 

Books  and  Pictures 

198 

XLIX. 

Contented  Heroes    . . 

200 

L. 

Funeral  Processions 

203 

LI. 

Sidelights       

206 

LII. 

Grumblers 

212 

LIII. 

The   Kazan   Cathedral  in   Petro- 

grad   

213 

LIV. 

A  Farewell  Visit 

218 

LV. 

A  Telephonic  Conversation 

220 

LVI. 

An  Interrupted  Journey  . . 

222 

LVII. 

A  Centre  of  Mercy 

228 

LVIII. 

An  Unavoidable  Topic  of  Conversa- 

tion     

233 

LIX. 

Cold  Water 

237 

LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Political  Prisoner     . .         . .    Frontispiece 

Pine  Forest    . . 

A  Country  Road      

The  Cobble  Pavement  of  Moscow 

St.  Sergei  Radonejski 

The  Siege  of  the  Troitsa  Lavra  by  the  Poles 
in  1608 

The  Sanctuary  of  St.  Isaac's  Cathedral 

Cathedral  of  St.  Isaac  in  Petrograd 

Central  Depot  of  the  Red  Cross  Interior  in 
Petrograd 

The  Hermitage  in  Petrograd 

Birches  

Illuminated  Text     . . 

War  Loan  Posters 

H.I.H.  Prince  Alexander  Petrovitch  of  Olden- 
burg 

One  of  the  Wards  of  the  Anglo-Russian  Hos- 
pital in  the  Palace  of  the  Grand  Duke 
Dmitri  Pavlovitch,  in  Petrograd   . . 

Wounded  Soldiers  Travelling   . . 

Alexander  Nevski   

The  Kazan  Cathedral  in  Petrograd  . . 

Interior,  Ikon  of  the  Mother  of  God 

"  Not  Expected  " — The  Exile's  Return 


10 

40 
40 
42 

50 
86 
86 

96 
no 
126 

143 

152 

T  r-O 


168 
178 
194 
216 
216 
238 


FOREWORD. 


I  HAVE  been  requested  to  write  a  few  words  as  an 
Introduction  to  the  book  which  Mrs.  Sonia  Howe  is 
presenting  to  the  public.  I  gladly  comply  with  the 
request,  as  I  am  sure  that  a  perusal  of  the  book  will 
afford  both  pleasure  and  instruction  to  the  reader. 
The  main  object  of  the  journey  of  Mrs.  Howe  to  Russia 
was  to  endeavour  to  obtain  an  amnesty  for  political 
exiles,  and  she  also  had  an  opportunity  offered  to  her 
of  befriending  Russian  prisoners  of  war  who  had 
escaped  from  German  captivity.  Her  efforts  in  the 
above  directions  were  satisfactorily  successful,  and  she 
displayed  both  energy  and  tact  in  attaining  her  ends. 
The  sketches  which  she  gives  of  the  persons  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact,  and  of  the  various  scenes  and  in- 
cidents which  impressed  her  on  her  travels,  are  vivid 
and  realistic,  and  are  portrayed  with  considerable 
descriptive  charm  and  force.  I  confidently  recommend 
the  book  to  the  British  public. 

Carnock. 

May  iSth,  1917. 


INTRODUCTION. 


When  in  May,  1916,  Count  Dmitry  Olsoufiev,  one 
of  the  delegates  of  the  Imperial  Council,  then  on  a 
visit  to  London,  invited  me  to  come  to  Russia  in  order 
to  plead  privately  with  those  in  authority  for  a  political 
amnesty,  no  one  could  have  guessed  that  this  act  of 
justice  would  be  performed — in  less  than  a  year — 
by  an  altogether  new  Government. 

The  amnesty  for  which  I  went  to  plead  has  come 
about  in  so  wonderful  and  unexpected  a  way  that, 
all  lovers  and  friends  of  Russia  can  only  praise  God  for 
the  answer  to  their  prayers.  Surely  no  effort  for 
righteousness,  however  insignificant,  is  in  vain,  and 
if  my  private  mission  resulted  in  nothing  more  than 
the  liberation  of  but  120  administrative  exiles,*  and 
incidentally  in  bringing  about  a  happier  state  for  the 
soldiers  who  had  escaped  from  German  captivity, 
even  so  it  was  not  useless,  and  I  feel  grateful  to  the 
generous-hearted  man  as  whose  guest  I  went  to  Russia. 
All  honour  to  him  ! 

♦People  sent  into  exile  without  trial,  under  suspicion  of  f>olitical 
offences  or  for  holding  views  contrary  to  the  regime  in  power. 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

Six  months  have  passed  since  the  events  narrated 
in  this  book  were  written  down  as  merely  personal 
notes,  without  any  idea  of  publication,  as  the  record 
of  actualities  witnessed  at  a  critical  moment  in  the 
history  of  Russia. 

Since  the  revolution  has  produced  the  tremendous 
changes  which  are  now  before  the  eyes  of  tbe  world, 
I  have  been  asked  by  a  great  many  people  whether  last 
summer  I  had  had  any  inkling  of  the  coming  Revolu- 
tion ?  Yes  !  for  the  mutterings  of  the  storm  had  begun 
to  make  themselves  heard,  and  this  makes  me  think 
that  the  story  of  my  personal  experiences  on  a  journey 
rather  unique  for  a  woman,  would  prove  of  interest 
to  the  general  reader,  and  might  also  enable  him  to 
realise  that  many  of  the  disorders  now  become  apparent 
were  even  then  actually  existing.  This,  I  hope,  will 
call  forth  even  greater  and  more  intelligent  sympathy 
for  the  Russian  people  from  their  Allies.  It  is  for  this 
reason  alone  that  publicity  has  been  given  to  certain 
of  the  following  chapters. 

Now  that  the  old  order  of  things  has  passed  away, 
I  am  at  liberty  to  publish  some  of  the  interviews  with 
Cabinet  Ministers,  and  also  the  experiences  with  Russian 
soldiers  who  had  escaped  from  captivity  in  Germany, 
as  throwing  interesting  sidelights  on  men  and  matters 
political.  I  do  so  with  the  knowledge  of  Sir  George 
Buchanan  and  with  the  approval  of  Count  Olsoufiev. 


INTRODUCTION.  xv. 

If  certain  representatives  of  the  old  regime  come  out 
rather  better  than  one  generally  expected  of  reaction- 
aries— well,  then  let  the  Anglo-vSaxon  love  of  fair  play 
come  in,  for  is  not  one  of  its  characteristics  to  give 
every  man  his  due,  even  though  he  be  opponent  or 
enemy  ? 

In  addition  to  the  personal  notes,  I  wrote  down  at 
the  request  of  friends  my  impressions  of  the  people, 
and  of  prevailing  conditions  of  everyday  life,  as  of 
interest  to  a  wider  circle.  Lying  under  a  beautiful 
English  chestnut  tree,  I  therefore  sent  my  thoughts 
back  to  Russia,  and  while  I  lived  once  again  through 
things  seen  and  heard  in  my  native  country,  my  pen 
transferred  these  conversations  and  experiences  to 
paper.  Thus  the  following  chapters  are  not  the  pro- 
duction of  a  journalist,  nor  have  they  been  written 
with  an  eye  to  effect,  but  are  merely  snapshots  showing 
things  as  they  are — without  pre-arranged  staging  or 
artificial  posing. 

My  only  regret  is  that  the  style  of  narrative  brings 
me  so  frequently  on  the  scene. 

St.  Luke's  Vicarage,  Finchley,  N. 
5^/f  May,  1917. 


REAL    RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

How    IT    CAME    ABOUT    THAT    I    WENT    TO    RUSSIA. 

We  were  talking  about  the  Anglo-Russian  Alliance, 
and  I  told  Count  Dmitry  Olsoufiev,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  Russia,  that,  when  lecturing,  I  had  often  come 
across  a  strong  feeling  against  this  alliance  on  account 
of  the  continuance  of  the  exile  system. 

"  Does  the  question  of  political  exile  interest  you  ?  " 
the  Count  asked  me  with  surprise. 

"  Very  much  so,"  I  replied,  and  going  up  to  my 
mantelpiece,  I  took  down  the  model  of  an  old  Russian 
pilgrim.,  which  I  handed  to  him  with  the  remark  : 
"  This  little  figure,  made  out  of  prison  bread,  was  sent 
by  a  prisoner  as  a  token  of  gratitude  to  those  who  were 
helping  the  political  exiles.  If  only  the  Russian 
Government  would  proclaim  an  amnesty !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  That  is  my  wish  also,"  was  his  fervent  retort, 
"  and  I  have  already  spoken  about  it  to  various 
Ministers,  but  they  say  it  could  only  be  granted 
after  some  great  victory." 

A 


2  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

As  my  guest  was  so  evidently  interested  in  the 
question,  I  told  him  of  the  small  "  Committee  for 
the  Relief  of  Administrative  Exiles  in  Northern  Russia 
and  Siberia,"  of  which  I  was  Honorary  Secretary, 
and  that,  thanks  to  the  generosity  of  British  lovers 
of  Russia,  we  had  been  able  to  send  out  over  £6,000 
during  the  last  ten  years  to  assist  some,  at  least,  of  the 
starving  exiles. 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  we  were  driving  along  in 
a  taxi,  the  Count  suddenly  turned  to  me :  "  Will 
you  come  with  me  to  Petrograd,  and  speak  to  the 
Premier,  Mr.  Stuermer,  just  as  you  have  spoken  to 
me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  I  replied  without  hesitation. 

''  Thank  you,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  will  arrange 
for  you  to  see  all  the  Ministers,  and  if  possible,  the 
Empress  Dowager." 

On  producing  a  letter  of  invitation  from  the  Count, 
written  specially  for  the  Passport  Bureau,  a  passport 
was  at  once  promised  to  me  : — 

Claridge's  Hotel, 

Brook  Street,  W. 
Le  13  Mai,  1916. 
Chere  Mrs.  Howe, 

Sachant  que  vous  etes  la  fondatrice  du  Comite 
du  secours  des  exiles  administratifs  en  Siberie  et 
qui  pendant  dix  ans  a  ce  sujet  vous  etiez  en  relations 
avec  le  public  anglais,  je  pense  que  votre  voyage 
en  Russie  en  ce  moment  pourrait  etre  utile  a  la  cause 
qui  vous  interesse  si  profondemcnt.  Ainsi  je  me 
permets  de  vous  inviter  de  venir  a  Petrograd,  ou  je 
ferai    mon    possible    pour    vous    donncr    I'ocassion 


HOW  IT  CAME  THAT  I  WENT  TO  RUSSIA.     3 

de  parler  a  notre  premier  ministre  dune  facon  intime. 
Veuillez  agreer  Madame,  I'expression  de  mes  sen- 
timents distingues  et  croyez  a  ma  profonde  sym- 
pathie  pour  la  cause  a  laquelle  vous  avez  travaille 
avec  tant  d'amour  et  tant  d'energie. 
Votre  devoue, 

CoMTE  Dmitry  Olsoufiev. 

{Membre  du  Conseil  de  l' Empire). 

One  of  the  officials  on  reading  this  letter,  remarked 
to  me  with  a  smile  :  "  You  are  going  on  a  wonderful 
mission." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  replied. 

Before  starting  on  my  journey,  at  the  suggestion 
of  the  Count,  I  sent  the  following  letter  to  various 
repiesentative  Christian  men,  both  lay  and  clerical, 
from  most  of  whom  I  received  sympathetic  replies. 

May  16th,  1916. 
Private  and  Confidential. 

An  unexpected  opportunity  has  been  offered  me 
to  plead  personally  and  privately,  the  cause  of  the 
Political  Exiles  before  the  Prime  Minister  of  Russia 
and  Members  of  the  Imperial  Council.  It  lias  been 
suggested  to  me  by  one  of  the  latter  that  it  would 
be  desirable  for  me  to  bring  some  letters  from 
leading  Christian  people  with  regard  to  the  effect 
an  amnesty  would  have  on  public  opinion  in  Great 
Britain.  The  idea  is  not  to  present  the  views  of 
merely  Party  politicians,  as  these  might  prejudice 
the  cause  in  the  eyes  of  the  Russian  Ministers,  to 
whom,  however,  the  general  view  of  Russia's 
genuine  friends  among  the  British  nation  would 
carry  great  weight. 


REAL   RUSSIANS. 

May  I  ask  you  therefore  for  the  great  favour 
to  write  to  me  in  a  few  words  what  your  feelings 
are  in  this  matter  ? 

The  amnesty  depends  on  the  will  of  the  Tsar, 
on  his  Ministers  and  on  the  Imperial  Council,  and 
as  I  shall  be  granted  the  wonderful  and  unique 
opportunity  of  pleading  for  the  amnesty  with  the 
responsible  advisers  of  his  Majesty,  there  is  every 
reason  to  hope  that,  under  the  blessing  of  God — 
"  in  Whose  hand  the  heart  of  the  King  is  " — the 
longed-for  act  of  clemency  may  now  come  about. 

For  the  last  ten  years  I  have  been  in  touch  v/ith 
the  Exiles,  and  with  true-hearted  British  people  who 
love  Russia.  In  1906  I  founded  the  Committee  for 
the  Relief  of  Administrative  Exiles  in  Siberia, 
a  non-political  organisation,  and  it  is  because  of 
this  effort  that  one  of  the  members  of  the  Imperial 
Council,  now  in  England,  considers  me  to  be  the 
right  person  to  put  the  case  of  the  Exiles,  and  of 
British  opinion  with  regard  to  this  matter,  before 
the  Prime  Minister.  He  himself  feels  the  deepest 
sympa.thy  with  the  cause. 

Your  letter  will  be  considered  as  confidential 
and  private,  as  far  as  England  is  concerned.  I  will 
use  it  only  for  the  Russian  Ministers,  and  perhaps 
the  Metropolitan. 

Hoping  to  hear  from  you  very  soon. 

Believe  me. 

Yours  faithfully, 

SONIA  E.  HowF, 
Hun.  Sec.  cf  the  Commitlce  far  the  Relief  of  Administrativs 
Exiles  in  Northern  Russia  and  Siberia- 


HOW  IT  CAME  THAT  I  WENT  TO  RUSSIA.      5 

Three  weeks  after  this  unexpected  invitation  had 
been  given  and  accepted,  I  started  for  my  beloved 
native  country  with  a  heart  full  of  joyful  hope.  The 
Count  had  been  detained  in  Italy  and  France,  and  as 
I  wanted  to  be  back  by  a  certain  tinie,  I  travelled  on 
in  advance. 

En  route  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  some  other 
members  of  the  Imperial  Council,  who  expressed  great 
curiosity  as  to  the  object  of  my  journey,  for  they  knew 
that  the  Count  was  to  take  me  to  Russia.  I  merely 
laughed,  and  replied  to  their  questions  that  I  wanted 
to  do  my  humble  share  in  strengthening  the  Alliance, 
but  as  to  the  precise  manner  in  which  I  was  going  to 
accomplish  this — that  they  could  learn  from  oiu*  mutual 
friend. 

How  someone  who  did  not  even  belong  to  the  Press 
could  cherish  such  ambitions  was  beyond  them.  I 
quite  sympathised  with  them,  for  I  by  myself  could 
never  have  achieved  anything,  of  this  I  was  fully 
conscious  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  remembered  that 
the  mouse  had  nibbled  through  the  mesh  of  the  net 
in  which  the  lion  had  been  caught,  and  all  I  wanted 
was  to  be  like  that  mouse. 

In  order  not  to  compromise  anyone  in  Russia,  it 
had  been  agreed  that  I  should  abstain  from  \  isiting, 
while  there,  those  friends  who  had  been  the  inter- 
mediaries between  the  Committee  in  Great  Britain 
and  the  exiles  in  Siberia.  Therefore  I  had  regretfully 
to  limit  myself  to  meeting  my  relatives  and  personal 
friends  only,  apart  from  those  in  authority  whom  I 
had  come  on  purpose  to  see. 


6  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER   II. 

Conflicting  Impulses. 

In  the  train  to  Haparanda  from  Cliristiania,  there 
were  a  number  of  Russians  from  the  Argentine.  One 
of  them,  a  line,  tall  young  working-man,  looked  at  me 
with  an  anguished  expression,  and  holding  up  his  finger, 
which  was  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  rag,  growled  out  : 
"  Life  is  not  worth  living  with  a  finger  like  this  !  " 
"  How  can  a  strong  young  man  like  you  make  such 
a  fuss  ?  "  I  said  rallyingly.  "  Come,  let  me  see  what 
is  the  matter."  It  proved  to  be  a  very  bad  whitlow, 
which  I  hnmediately  took  in  hand.  I  invited  the  man 
into  my  coupe,  and  soon  the  strained  look  in  his 
handsome  face  relaxed  into  a  relieved  smile.  Very 
gingerly  he  held  his  swollen  finger  in  my  little  silver 
goblet  containing  a  hot  infusion  of  camomile,  which 
1  had  made  at  one  of  the  stations  in  a  tin  with 
a  lid,  the  only  vessel  I  could  find,  to  keep  the 
infusion  hot. 

We  made  friends  ov'er  the  bad  finger,  and  I  soon 
found  out  that  the  chief  reason  for  the  young  fellov\''s 
anxiety  was  the  fact  that  his  mother  had  died  from  a 
poisoned  finger.  He  told  this  to  everyone  who  spoke 
to  him,  for  quite  a  number  of  fellow-passengers  began 
to  take  an  interest  in  my  handsome  patient.  I  re- 
assured him  there  was  no  danger  of  death  for  him 
yet  awhile. 

I  would  not  like  to  say  how  many  times  I  found  my 
clean  bandage  replaced  by  a  green  leaf  which  he  had 


CONFLICTING   IMPULSES.  7 

picked  at  some  station.  He  declared  emphatically  that 
a  leaf  was  much  better  than  fomentations.  There  was 
still,  however,  another  remedy  which  his  soul  hankered 
after,  and  which  he  wanted  me  to  procure  for  him. 

"  Sestritza,"*  he  said,  "  do  get  me  some  roast 
onion  ;  if  only  I  could  put  slices  of  hot  roast  onion 
on  my  finger,  it  would  soon  get  well.  I  treated  a  bad 
finger  once  before  this  way  only,  and  it  got  well  very 
quickly." 

In  order  to  humour  him,  I  enquired  from  the  Steward 
of  the  dining-car  whether  I  could  order  roast  onion, 
but  this  delicacy  was  not  on  the  bill  of  fare.  Mean- 
while the  finger  began  to  get  a  bit  easier.  According 
to  the  patient — thanks  to  the  cooling  leaf  ;  in  my 
opinion — thanks  to  the  hot  camomile  fomentation. 

At  last  he  got  so  weary  of  his  finger  that  he  decided 
to  lance  it.  By  this  time  a  doctor  had  joined  us,  but 
his  and  my  ideas  of  antiseptics  found  no  support  from 
the  patient.  All  I  could  persuade  him  to  do  was  to  pass 
the  blade  of  his  knife  through  the  flame  of  my  spirit 
lamp  before  sticking  it  into  his  finger — a  performance 
which  he  accomplished  without  wincing. 

As  the  young  man  was  feeling  really  ill  after  several 
sleepless  nights  caused  by  his  aching  finger,  I  asked 
him  whether  he  was  not  perhaps  able  to  pay  the  differ- 
ence and  pass  the  night  in  the  second  class,  instead 
of  sitting  on  the  hard  benches  of  the  third  class. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  I  can  pay  the  difference  easily ; 
you  must  help  me  to  get  out  my  money." 

With  his  left  hand  he  drew  out  of  his  breast  pocket 
a  small,  untidy,  brown  paper  parcel,  which  he  handed 
to  me. 

*"  Sister." 


&  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  You  will  find  here  one  thousand  five  hundred 
roubles  (£150)  ;  please  take  from  it  as  much  as  you  think 
necessary  for  paying  the  difference." 

He  then  told  me  that,  although  he  was  earning 
excellent  wages  in  the  Argentine,  he  had  not  been 
able  to  resist  the  call  of  duty,  and  was  now  returning 
to  Russia  to  join  the  Army. 

"  Were  you  called  up  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  one  fetched  me,"  he  replied  proudly,  "  I 
came  of  my  own  free  will.  You  see,  I  argued  like  this 
— Russia  needs  every  man  at  present,  therefore  I 
ought  to  go  home  and  do  my  share.  True,  I  said  to 
myself,  if  I  stay  here  I  might  go  on  earning  good 
money,  but  in  after  years  I  might  despise  myself  for 
having  failed  my  Fatherland — therefore,  here  I  am. 
It  cost  me  ten  pounds  to  come  from  the  Argentine 
to  England,  but  I  am  well  able  to  afford  it,"  he  added 
with  evident  satisfaction. 

In  the  Consulate,  at  the  frontier  station,  I  witnessed 
an  interesting  scene.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of 
Russians,  returning  from  the  Argentine  and  America, 
were  being  questioned  by  the  Consul  as  to  how  much 
money  they  had  with  them.  An  elderly  working-man, 
who  had  told  me  previously  that  he  had  twenty  pounds 
in  his  pocket,  quoted  this  sum  also  to  the  Consul. 
Others  confessed  to  having  sums  varying  from  two 
to  seventy  pounds.  All  those  who  had  more  than 
£3  had  to  buy  their  own  tickets.  Imagine  my  surprise 
when  I  found  out  afterwards  that  my  rich  young 
patient,  with  his  ;{i50  in  his  pocket,  had  received  a 
free  ticket. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Very   simply,"    he   replied.      "  When   asked   how 


HOME  AGAIN.  9 

much  money  I  had,  I  said,  '  none  at  all ' — so,  of  course, 
I  got  a  free  ticket." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  I  said 
indignantly,  thoroughly  disgusted  with  his  trickiness 
and  meanness. 

"  Why  should  I  pay  for  having  to  become  a  soldier  ?  " 
he  retorted  crossly.  "  Surely  it  is  enough  that  I  have 
come  at  all,  considering  all  I  could  have  gone  on 
earning  in  the  Argentine  ?  " 

Evidently  patriotism  and  love  of  money  were  warring 
with  one  another  in  the  breast  of  this  fine  specimen  of 
Russian  manhood.  Had  he  left  the  noble  feelings  of 
of  the  Russian  peasant  behind  in  the  Argentine,  where 
money  plays  so  great  a  r6le  ?  or  was  it  just  human 
nature,  which  tempts  people  of  all  nations  to  get 
something  for  nothing  ? 


CHAPTER   III. 

Home  Again. 

It  was  joy  to  be  once  again  in  Russia  ! 

I  drew  in  deep  draughts  of  my  native  air,  missed 
for  so  long,  and  inhaled  the  delicious  scent  of  the 
flower-bedecked  meadows.  My  eyes  feasted  on  the 
beauty  of  the  landscape — the  dark  pine  forests,  the 
graceful  white  birch  trees,  the  soft  bronze  bog-land, 
the  golden  cornfields  and  the  creamy  pink  expanse 
of  buckwheat.     Even  the  narrow  strips  of  land  along 


10  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

the  railway  lines  were  a  delight,  covered  as  they  were 
with  wild  flowers — pink,  blue  and  purple. 

What  a  relief  to  be  once  again  in  a  country  of  wide 
expanses,  where  the  consciousness  of  space  involun- 
tarily makes  one  breathe  more  freely,  and  calls  forth 
such  a  feeling  of  delight  that  it  can  only  be  expressed 
by  the  action  of  opening  one's  arms  wide.  No  hedges 
break  up  the  fields  and  meadows  into  little  squares, 
but,  uninterrupted  before  the  eyes,  open  out  wide 
views  and  a  far  horizon. 

Oh,  the  beauty  of  the  white  nights,  when  sunset 
and  dawn  almost  meet,  and  when,  even  at  midnight, 
the  sky  is  illuminated  by  rich  red  clouds.  It  was 
indeed  a  home-coming — and  for  the  few  weeks  I  was 
in  Russia,  my  life  in  England  fell  back  into  the  furthest 
recesses  of  my  consciousness  and  the  total  absence  of 
letters  fostered  this  forgetfulness.  Once  only  I  acted 
as  though  in  England  when,  on  a  broilingly  hot  July 
day  I  remarked  to  a  lady  next  to  me  in  the  tram  : 
"  What  a  hot  day  !  "  Her  curt  retort,  "  Pray,  where 
do  you  come  from  that  this  is  news  to  you  ?  "  made  me 
realise  that  I  was  not  in  England,  the  "land  of  weather." 
I  apologised  humbly  for  my  apparent  silliness  and 
explained  the  cause  and  reason  of  my  so  obvious 
remark. 

The  landscape  satisfied  my  eye,  the  people  my  heart. 
The  gracefulness  of  the  birches  delighted  me  as  much 
as  the  fungi  and  mosses  ;  the  men  and  women  drew 
forth  a  feeling  of  brotherhood  and  sympathy.  The 
whole  nation  seemed  to  be  carried  along  on  the  crest 
of  a  big  wave.  There  was  a  feeling  of  moral  and 
spiritual  uplift  which  was  a  new  and  wonderful  experi- 
ence.    How  often  did  I  not  hear  the  same  word  used 


HOME   AGAIN.  ii 

by  the  most  different  individuals.  They  all  spoke 
of  a  great  Razmaakh,  a  word  which  suggests  a  broad, 
generous   vastness,   something   on   a  large   scale. 

Everything  that  happened  was  of  great  Razmaakh — 
good  and  evil  alike  ;  millions  of  soldiers,  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  wounded  ;  great  devotion  and  equally 
great  rascality  ;  wonderful  efficiency  in  provisioning 
the  huge  Army  by  the  All-Russian  Union  of  Zemstvos 
— absolute  disorganisation  as  to  the  food  supply 
of  the  cities  under  the  control  of  the  official  administra- 
tion ;  abundance  of  corn  and  potatoes  in  the  country 
— barely  enough  in  the  towns  ;  miles  of  stacked  wood 
along  railway  lines  and  forests — but  a  fuel  famine 
in  the  capitals.  Everywhere  masses  of  soldiers  in 
shirts  of  "  protective  "  or  drab  colour,  and  hosts  of 
officials — military  and  civil — in  smart  uniforms,  their 
breasts  bedecked  with  orders  and  badges  of  all  kinds  ; 
great  victories — thousands  of  prisoners  taken  ;  tremen- 
dous losses  of  men  in  the  bloody  battlefield  ;  on  every 
railway  line  hospital  trains  full  of  wounded  heroes  ; 
everywhere  troop  trains  filled  with  patriotic  and 
courageous  men  going  into  battle  with  a  smile  and 
a  song  ;  churches  filled  with  women  praying  for  their 
dear  ones  ;  large  armies  of  women  nursing  the  sick 
and  feeding  the  destitute ;  a  war  front  stretching 
from  the  Baltic  to  the  Black  Sea. 

As  I  stood  in  front  of  the  gigantic  war  map  in 
the  "  Peoples  House  "  in  Petrograd,  and  observed  the 
long  Russian  line  cutting  right  down  from  sea  to  sea, 
and  then  looked  at  the  tiny  line  indicating  the  British 
front  in  France,  I  realised  why  some  Russians  wonder 
what  England  is  doing.  In  the  Russian  line  there 
is  unmistakably  "  Razmaakh,"  and  it  is  difficult  for  the 


12  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

uneducated  onlooker  to  realise  all  that  little  British 
line  portends.  I  told  this  to  an  English  Colonel  whom 
I  met  in  Petrograd.  He  declared,  and  quite  rightly, 
that  in  fairness  to  England  the  line  on  that  map,  and 
indeed  on  every  map,  should  be  carried  on  right  into 
the  Channel,  through  the  North  Sea,  past  the  North 
Cape  on  to  Archangel  ;  for  is  it  not  the  British  Fleet 
which  keeps  open  the  communication  between  that 
Russian  port  and  the  munition  factories  of  England 
and  America  ? 

Then  the  people — the  dear,  lovable,  simple-hearted, 
kindly  mannered  people  !  How  like  old  times  it  was 
to  be  addressed  again  by  the  homely  "  thou  "  instead 
of  by  the  stiff  "  you,"  and  to  be  talked  to  by  the  old 
servant  in  the  way  only  Russian,  and  perhaps  Irish, 
servants  of  bygone  days  used  to  do.  We  used  to  be- 
long to  them,  and  to  this  dear  old  woman  I  was  still 
someone  to  be  petted  and  scolded  as  thougli  I  were  a 
child. 

Watching  the  soldiers,  talking  to  the  people,  moving 
amongst  the  crowds,  travelling  in  trains  with  men  and 
women  of  all  kinds  and  classes,  gave  me  a  conscious- 
ness of  being  carried  along  on  a  great  wave.  I  found 
myself  in  a  new,  fresh  atmosphere — there  was  greater 
freedom  of  speech,  a  wider  outlook  and  higher  hopes. 
Everybody  was  expecting  great  things  after  the  war — 
Reforms,  Progress,  Happiness. 

The  millions  of  soldiers — peasants  from  all  parts 
of  the  Empire — were  learning  new  truths.  They  were 
having  their  eyes  opened  ;  comparisons  were  being 
drawn,  the  mental  horizon  was  becoming  enlarged. 
When  the  war  is  over,  they  will  return  to  their  distant 
homes  and  tell  those  who  stayed  behind  what  they  have 


DISAPPOINTED   HEROES.  13 

seen  and  learned.  One  thing  the  whole  nation  has 
learned,  and  that  is  to  do  without  vodka.  It  has 
become  a  sober  nation — sober  and  prosperous.  The 
greatest  wonder — the  most  beautiful  first-fruits  of 
the  blessing  which  will  follow  on  the  war — is  this  aboli- 
tion of  vodka.  This  alone  has  given  to  the  people 
a  Razmaakh.* 

On  the  crest  of  the  wave  of  patriotism  and  devotion, 
sobriety  and  enthusiasm,  of  life-hallowing  sorrow 
and  soul-racking  suffering,  a  new  Russia  is  being  carried 
along,  and  so  great  is  the  power  of  this  wave  that  it 
will  sweep  away  all  the  old  rotten  breakwaters. 

It  was  good  to  be  in  Russia,  and  not  merely  to  read 
the  Russian  newspapers  in  England,  for  they  are  all 
full  of  grievances.  Personal  contact  with  the  people 
alone  enables  one  to  get  a  true  impression  of  conditions. 
The  loving  though  critical  eye  beholds  both  light  and 
shade,  and  the  sympathetic  and  open  ear  hears  what 
is  sweet  and  tender,  as  well  as  what  is  bitter  and  hard. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
DiSAProiNTED  Heroes. 

"  Two  men  have  come  to  see  you.  They  say  they 
are  soldiers  who  have  escaped  from  captivity  in 
Germany  ;  that  you  know  all  about  them  and  that 
they  want  to  speak  to  you  urgently." 

*  That  the  Revolution  was  brought  about  with  so  little  blood- 
shed, and  that  order  was  so  soon  restored,  was  entirely  due  to  the 
fact  that  alcohol  was  unobtainable. 


14  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

The  old  servant,  who  had  been  in  my  mother's  service 
ever  since  I  was  a  child,  and  who  was  now  the  servant 
of  my  cousin  and  host,  looked  at  me  with  questioning 
eyes. 

She  shook  her  head  and  said  :  "  Now  what  is  this 
you  have  taken  upon  yourself  ?  " 

"  Grousha,"  I  replied,  "  you  dear  old  soul,  I  am 
delighted  to  see  these  men — they  are  heroes.  I  wonder, 
though,  what  they  want  of  me  ?  " 

A  young  corporal  and  a  sergeant  were  awaiting  me 
in  the  kitchen,  and  after  a  warm  greeting  I  invited 
them  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  I  asked,  utterly  taken 
aback  by  their  serious  dejected  looks. 

Furtively  looking  around  to  see  whether  he  could 
be  overheard — evidently  a  habit  acquired  in  captivity 
— the  tall  corporal  said  to  me  lugubriously  : 

"  Baryinia,*  we  have  come  to  share  impressions 
with  you  !  " 

"  Brothers,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  said,  shocked 
by  the  expression  of  tragedy  on  the  men's  faces. 
All  the  life  had  gone  out  of  their  eyes  ;  utterly  broken- 
hearted they  stood  before  me.  I  asked  them  to  sit 
down. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it  ;  why  are  you  so  cast 
down  ?  " 

"  Will  you  come  with  us  and  see  the  place  we  are 
lodged  in  ?  "  the  Corporal  asked  in  low,  dull  tones, 
"  then  you  will  understand  everything.  Some  of 
our  comrades  have  already  been  two  months  in  this 
Depot,  others  one  month,  and  nobody  seems  to  take 
any  interest  in  them.  All  that  we  are  provided  with 
*  "  Jvitdy  " — mistresH. 


DISAPPOINTED   HEROES.  15 

are  bare  boards — not  even  a  blanket  or  a  pillow,  and  the 
dirt  of  these  Barracks  is  indescribable  !  " 

My  heart  ached  with  pity  and  my  indignation  could 
only   be   equalled   by   the   soldiers'    disappointment. 

"  Will  you  come  with  us  now  ?  "  they  said,  when 
they  had  finished  their  tale. 

"  But  are  women  allowed  to  visit  the  Barracks  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  It  is  not  only  allowed,  but  quite  the  usual  thing," 
replied  the  soldier ;  "for  recruits  are  collected  there 
and  wives  and  sweethearts  are  in  and  out  all  day  long 
and  no  one   asks  any  questions." 

Reassured  on  this  point,  I  was  willing  to  go  with 
my  two  companions.  They  were  by  now  looking  a 
little  less  dejected,  for  they  had  implicit  faith  not  only 
in  my  will,  but  also  in  my  power  to  help  them — the 
dear  trusting  fellows.  Some  of  the  escaped  prisoners 
had  been  my  fellow-travellers  en  route  to  Petrograd, 
and  I  had  been  able  to  make  things  more  comfortable 
for  them  on  the  journey. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  Barracks  under  war  condi- 
tions. The  corporal,  in  fairness  to  the  authorities, 
at  once  told  me  that  these  Barracks  had  been  splendidly 
kept  before  the  war.  Now,  however,  they  defied  all 
description ;  they  were  more  like  night-shelters  for 
the  lowest  tramps  than  anything  else. 

In  bare,  dirty  rooms,  I  found  crowded  together 
some  five  hundred  men  who  had  all  escaped  from 
captivity.  I  shall  never  forget  the  sight.  In  the 
centre  of  the  spacious  but  stuffy  room  and  almost 
filling  it,  were  bare  planks  on  trestles,  which  stood 
so  close  together  as  to  form  one  huge  platform.  On 
it  some  men  lay  stretched  out  full  length,  their  heads 


i6  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

resting  on  bundles  which  contained  their  few  posses- 
sions ;  others  sitting  tailor-fashion  or  with  their  legs 
dangling.  There  was  not  a  table  or  chair  in  the  whole 
place  !  The  majority  of  the  men  were  in  civilian 
clothing  which  had  been  given  them  in  neutral  coun- 
tries ;  a  few,  however,  were  partly  dressed  in  uniform. 

I  was  quickly  surrounded  by  my  travelling  com- 
panions, who  greeted  me  with  such  evident  relief,  as 
if  they  had  pinned  all  their  hopes  on  my  visit. 

Never  before  had  I  witnessed  such  a  tragedy.  My 
proteges  had  passed  through  a  psychological  crisis, 
and  instead  of  the  happy  heroes  of  yesterday,  I  found 
myself  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  bitter,  disappointed 
and  angry  men.  I  felt  quite  nervous  on  their  account 
as  they  enumerated  their  grievances  with  loud  and  fear- 
less voices.  One  and  all  were  clamouring  for  me 
to  get  them  away  from  "  this  hell." 

"  See  where  they  have  put  us  !  "  they  cried. 

"  We  were  not  treated  like  this  even  in  the  German 
lagers — -there  they  gave  us  mattresses,  blankets  and 
pillows — and  here,  at  home,  look  what  they  expect  us 
to  rest  on  !  " 

There  was  yet  another  factor  which  accentuated 
the  unhappiness  of  the  newcomers.  My  particular 
friends,  proud  of  their  good  Dutch  and  English  cloth- 
ing, had  realised  with  horror  that  if  they  too  were 
compelled  to  spend  weeks  in  these  surroundings,  their 
clothes  would  get  as  dirty  and  shabby  as  those  of  the 
men  who  had  been  there  two  months. 

"  You  see,  Baryinia,"  a  thoughtful-looking  man  said 
to  me,  "  we  have  all  been  in  other  countries  ;  some 
of  us  have  seen  Paris,  others  Rotterdam  and  London, 
and  we  know  now  how   things  are  managed   there. 


DISAPPOINTED  HEROES.  17 

We  have  been  received  as  honoiu'ed  guests  in  London, 
we  have  met  with  great  kindness  from  the  Dutch 
and  Belgian,  but  here  in  Russia — in  our  own 
country— no  one  seems  to  take  any  notice  of  us 
whatever." 

Disgust  and  bitter  disappointment  were  plainly 
expressed  in  his  mien. 

"  The  least  they  could  do  would  be  to  send  us  home 
on  furlough,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  Never  mind,  if  we  cannot  get  home,"  said  another. 
"  If  they  would  even  send  us  at  once  to  the  front ; 
after  all  it  is  a  soldier's  duty  to  win  victories." 

"  This  enforced  inactivity  is  enough  to  drive  a  man 
mad,"  remarked  a  weary-looking  soldier,  running  his 
fingers  through  his  hair  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 

Other  men  began  to  crowd  around  me,  each  one 
wanting  to  have  his  say.  They  had  so  many  grievances, 
these  poor  fellows,  and  these  grievances  were  all  very 
real.  My  heart  went  out  to  the  men  and  repeatedly 
I  had  to  say  : 

"  Brothers,  I  do  realise  it.  Believe  me,  I  will  do  my 
utmost  to  help  you." 

Then  another  lot  came  up,  pushing  past  their  com- 
rades so  as  to  get  near  to  me,  and  they,  too,  voiced  their 
complaints.  I  could  not  but  feel  some  of  their  bitter- 
ness of  heart,  because  I  realised  the  justice  of  their 
grievances,  and  the  deep  resentment  which  was  under- 
lying it  all.  I  also  realised  the  danger  of  letting 
these  clever  and  resourceful  men  become  so  embittered, 
and  thereby  strain  their  loyalty. 

I  asked  some  of  the  soldiers  where  their  homes  were 
— in  Siberia,  the  Caucasus,  the  Crimea.  It  seemed 
that  all  of  them  lived  thousands  of  miles  away. 


i8  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

"  How  can  a  man  travel  eight  thousand  miles  with- 
out money  to  buy  food  with  ?  We  are  penniless  ; 
it  is  not  as  if  we  were  soldiers  who  have  been  drawing 
pay,"  said  one  of  the  men  indignantly. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  it  was  a  question  of 
utter  lack  of  organisation  and  also  of  overwork  on  the 
part  of  the  Commandant,  who  had  to  deal  with  an 
overwhelming  number  of  recruits.  Evidently  it  had 
not  been  foreseen  by  the  authorities  that  so  many 
hundreds  of  men  would  return  from  captivity  at  one 
time,  but  it  was  summer  and  there  had  been  a  steady 
leakage  from  the  German  prison  camps. 

The  soldiers  told  me  that  previously  several  parties 
of  returned  prisoners  had  been  sent  either  to  their 
homes  or  to  the  front,  but  that  for  the  last  two  months 
nothing  had  been  done — hence  the  accumulation  of  men. 
Finally,  I  had  a  clear  idea  of  all  the  grievances,  to 
abrogate  which  I  decided  to  move  every  lever. 

(i)  They  were  kept  at  this  Depot  for  an  in- 
definite time ;  their  requests  to  be  sent  to  the 
front  if  leave  could  not  be  granted,  were  ignored. 

(2)  They  were  informed  that  should  leave  be 
granted,  they  would  have  to  pay  a  fourth  part  of 
the  railway  fare,  and  that  no  money  would  be  given 
to  buy  food  on  the  journey. 

(3)  No  clothing  was  given  to  them. 

(4)  They  received  no  pay,  and  thus,  being 
penniless,  could  not  even  go  to  the  baths,  or  buy 
soap  to  wash  their  clothes  with. 

(5)  No  occupation  was  provided  for  them,  and 
their  days  and  weeks  were  spent  in  enforced  idle- 
ness, loafing  about  the  streets  or  lounging  about 
the  recruiting  grounds. 


DISAPPOINTED   HEROES.  19 

(6)  They  were  refused  papers  of  identification, 
thanks  to  which  they  would  have  been  enabled 
to  apply  to  benevolent  societies  for  shirts,  etc. 

(7)  In  order  to  get  themselves  military  shirts 
and  other  necessaries,  they  were  obliged  to  sell  their 
civilian  clothing  and  wrist  watches,  which  had 
been  presented  to  those  who  had  passed  through 
London,  by  the  Grand  Duke  Michael. 

The  men  told  me  that  whenever  they  tried  to 
approach  the  Commandant,  they  were  merely  sent 
to  some  clerk,  who  sent  them  on  to  another,  who 
again  passed  them  on  to  a  third  and  so  on — always 
without  any  result.  No  one  had  time  for  these  men — 
they  seemed  nobody's  business. 

"  Brothers,"  I  said  on  leaving,  "  will  you  have 
patience  for  a  little  longer  ?  Just  say  to  yourselves 
that  this  is  the  last  stage  of  your  escape,  the  last  bit 
of  hardship  to  be  endured,  and  I  promise  you  that  I 
will  do  my  utmost  to  get  things  put  right." 

"  God  bless  you,  you  are  indeed  our  protectress  ! 
Thank  you,  sestritza,  for  putting  fresh  courage  into 
our  hearts,"  they  cried. 

There  is  in  Russia  a  very  characteristic  word, 
"  Khlopotat  " — it  means  taking  trouble;  it  suggests 
giving  no  rest  to  the  persons  from  whom  help  might 
be  expected,  a  persistent  pegging  away  until  success 
is  achieved.  Only  one  must  know  the  right  person 
to  worry,  and,  fortunately  for  my  soldier  friends, 
I  was  in  this  happy  position.  The  very  next  day 
one  of  the  members  of  the  Imperial  Council  promised 
to  bring  the  sorry  plight  of  these  men  to  the  notice 
of  the  Premier  and  of  the  War  Minister. 

That  afternoon  I  left   for  the  interior  of    Russia, 


20  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

and  as  the  barracks  were  quite  close  to  the  station, 
some  of  the  men  came  to  see  me  off.  They  carried 
my  luggage  up  the  platform  and  saw  me  into  the 
train. 

"  You  are  the  only  friend  we  have,"  one  of  them 
remarked. 

"  What  should  v/e  have  done  without  you  ?  "  said 
another. 

"  Good  luck  to  you,  brothers,"  I  replied,  touched 
by  their  gratitude  and  fully  conscious  of  their  for- 
saken condition.  "  I  trust  all  will  turn  out  well,  and 
that  you  will  soon  be  happy  and  on  the  way  home 
to  your  dear  ones." 


CHAPTER   V. 

Waiting  Women. 

Having  to  wait  several  hours  in  Vitebsk  for  my  train, 
1  took  a  tram  ride  into  the  town  in  order  to  while  away 
the  time.  There  was  very  little  to  be  seen,  for  it  was 
Saturday,  and  all  the  shops  closed,  as  the  majority  of 
the  population  are  Jews.  There  were,  however,  many 
soldiers  stationed  in  the  city,  and  these  were  to  be 
seen  in  every  possible  and  impossible  condition  and 
position.  I  saw  them  marching  in  groups  and  driving 
about  in  large  carts,  watched  them  transport  and  carry 
goods  and  chattels,  to  all  appearances  belonging  to  some 
officer.     Of  the  Jews  I  saw  nothing — of  the  soldiers 


WAITING   WOMEN.  21 

a  great  deal.  Austrian  prisoners  of  war  were  also 
about.  I  saw  them  in  a  tram — all  were  laughing  and 
joking. 

On  my  return  to  the  station,  I  observed  in  hont  of 
one  of  the  station  buildings  a  long  queue  of  old  men, 
women  and  children.  This  was  my  hrst  view  of  a  sight 
which  was  10  become  only  too  familiar  to  me.  That 
day,  however,  it  was  so  new  as  to  be  perplexing. 
Turning  to  a  porter,  I  asked  him  what  all  these  people 
were  waiting  for, 

"  Sugar,"  he  replied,  and  then  he  explained  that 
owing  to  the  difficulty  of  buying  sugar  in  the  town, 
the  railway  authorities  were  providing  the  families  of 
their  employees  with  this  necessary  article  of  food. 

At  last  my  train  came  in,  and  1  was  able  to  travel 
on  to  Smolensk.  There  again  I  had  to  wait  many  hours 
before  being  able  to  go  on,  but  I  did  not  mind  this,  as 
I  love  watching  the  people  and  enjoy  talking  to  my 
humble  and  always  friendly  compatriots. 

At  the  Smolensk  station,  the  junction  for  three  lines, 
there  was  much  coming  and  going.  Owing  to  the 
war,  this  provincial  town  has  become  an  important 
centre,  and  the  railway  station  was  crowded  with 
soldiers. 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench  beside  some  women.  Two 
young  soldiers'  wives,  each  with  a  baby  in  her  arms, 
interested  me  particularly,  and  also  a  deformed  girl, 
with  sad,  wistful  eyes,  who  stood  beside  the  bench 
leaning  on  her  bundle,  which  she  had  deposited  on  the 
seat.  She  watched  the  women  with  the  babies  intently, 
and  after  I  had  begun  talking  to  these  young  soldatki, 
the  lonely-looking  girl  crept  nearer,  and  soon  joined  in 
our  conversation. 


22  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

I  forgot  all  about  my  own  trouble  as  I  talked  to  the 
women.  One  of  them  was  looking  very  dejected. 
Over  her  shoulder  she  had  a  large  bundle  in  a  red  shawl. 

"  Why  are  you  so  troubled  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  How  can  I  help  being  sad  and  worried  ?  "  she 
replied,  "  for  someone  has  stolen  my  money  which  I 
had  tied  securely  into  the  corner  of  my  shawl.  I  have 
been  to  see  my  husband,  and  now  I  am  like  someone 
lost,  for  I  do  not  know  how  to  return  to  my  village. 
Other  women  advise  me  to  beg  the  money  for  my  fare, 
but  that  is  awkward." 

Her  trouble  was  easily  remedied,  and  with  a  happy 
smile  on  her  face  she  got  up  to  enquire  about  her  train 
and  the  cost  of  the  ticket. 

"  While  you  go  to  the  booking  office,  let  me  have 
the  baby,"  the  hunch-backed  girl  said,  holding  out  her 
arms  for  it. 

With  the  other  woman's  babe  on  her  lap,  the  young 
woman  with  the  wistful  eyes  looked  less  forlorn.  She 
cooed  to  the  baby,  then,  with  deft  fingers,  she  began 
to  undress  it.  From  the  mother's  bundle  she  took 
out  some  garments.  Looking  up  to  me  she  said, 
apologetically  : 

"  The  little  one  does  not  seem  very  comfortable, 
and  I  will  make  it  look  nice."  The  plump 
infant  seemed  perfectly  content  to  be  nursed  by  a 
stranger. 

While  occupied  with  the  baby,  she  told  me  all  about 
herself. 

"  I  am  a  refugee,"  she  said,  "  and  hav^e  just  come 
back  from  Ferghana,  where  I  had  been  sent.  I  was 
very  happy  there  in  service,  but  now  all  the  refugees 
have   been   ordered   back   to   Russia,   because   of  the 


WAITING  WOMEN.  23 

great  heat.  I  am  sorry,  for  now  I  must  seek  another 
situation,"  she  added  wearily. 

The  soldatka  returned  with  good  news.  A  train  was 
due  quite  soon. 

The  other  soldatka  was  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
dark  haired,  rosy  cheeked.  Her  bright  get-up  gave 
a  touch  of  colour  to  the  otherwise  grey  and  drab 
surroundings.  She  wore  a  red  kokoshnik*,  a  pink 
sarafane|,  and  rows  of  red  beads  were  around  her 
neck. 

"  You  look  very  smart,"  I  remarked. 

Pleased  with  my  genuine  admiration,  she  replied, 
smiling,  "  I  have  been  to  get  myself  and  the  baby 
photographed.  My  husband  has  written  from 
Khranzia  (as  she  called  France)  that  I  am  to  send 
him  a  pictme  of  myself  and  the  boy,  for  he  has  not  yet 
seen  the  little  one." 

The  women  told  me  many  interesting  things  ;  how 
they  were  getting  on  in  the  village  without  their  men- 
folk ;  and  how  they  did  their  utmost  to  keep  things 
going,  also  why  they  did  not  want  Austrian  prisoners 
of  war  to  work  for  them. 

"  Our  husbands  would  kill  us  if,  on  coming  home, 
they  found  that  mischief  had  happened,"  they  said, 
expressing  what  was  a  general  feeling  amongst  the 
peasant  women. 

In  fact,  a  few  days  later  I  read  a  Government  Order 
prohibiting  prisoners  of  war  from  being  given  as  work- 
men to  households  where  all  the  men  had  gone  away 
■ — evidently  a  necessary  precaution. 

Everywhere  in  the  large  waiting-room  there  were 

*  Half -moon  shaped  head  dre^s. 
t  Peasant  woman's  pinafore  skirt. 


24  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

groups  of  families  waiting  for  their  trains,  many  squat- 
ting on  the  ground.  My  attention  was  attracted  by  a 
nice-looking  woman  who  was  talking  to  some  men. 
I  joined  the  little  group  and  heard  her  relate  her  ex- 
periences, the  tragedy  of  which  lay  in  the  fact  that 
they  are  the  common  lot  of  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  Russian  people  at  the  present  time. 

"  I  am  a  refugee,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  come  here 
six  days  ago.  I  am  waiting  for  my  aunt  to  join  me, 
and  then  we  shall  try  to  find  a  room  somewhere. 
Our  village  was  close  to  the  firing  line,"  she  related, 
"  and  now  and  then  German  soldiers  would  come  and 
ask  for  food.  They  were  hungry,  they  said,  and  remem- 
bering that  our  men  might  be  in  the  same  plight, 
I  fed  the  enemy.  They  were  bad  men,"  she  remarked, 
shaking  her  head  in  disapproval. 

"  First  they  asked  for  food,  which  I  did  not  mind, 
but  then  they  led  away  our  cow  and  the  pigs,  and 
then  they  took  my  husband  away  and  sent  him  into 
Germany.  I  held  out  for  a  little  while  longer,  but  when 
the  shells  began  to  burst  close  to  the  house  I  took 
the  children  and  came  here." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not  know  myself. 
I  had  intended  staying  in  Smolensk,  but  the  Committee 
for  Refugees  advises  my  going  on  to  some  village,  as 
there  are  no  lodgings  left  in  the  town." 

"  How  do  you  manage  about  food  while  you  are  thus 
living  in  the  station  ?  " 

"  I  go  three  times  a  day  to  the  feeding  centre,  ' 
she  replied,  "  and  there  I  also  get  milk  for  the 
children." 

Just  then  her  little  girl  of  three  toddied  up  to  us. 


EVENSONG  IN    RAILWAY  STATION.  25 

"  She  is  such  a  wise  one,"  the  fond  mother  re- 
marked, patting  the  little  mite's  head.  "  Only  a  lew 
days  ago  she  said  to  me, '  Mamma,  go  and  work,' 
and  I  think  I  will  do  as  she  says.  However,  I  must 
await  my  aunt,  lor  she  has  promised  to  join  me  here 
on  Tuesday." 

This  was  Saturday,  and  so  it  meant  two  more  days, 
at  least,  of  sitting  in  the  railway  waiting-room. 

I  suggested  finding  work  for  her  on  my  sister-in-law's 
estate,  and  this  pleased  the  brave  little  refugee  woman. 
The  gendarme  had  come  up  to  the  group,  and  was  also 
listening  with  kindly  interest  to  her  tale.  Turning 
to  me  he  said  :  "  Address  your  reply  to  me,  write 
whether  the  lady  wants  this  refugee  to  come,  and  I 
will  pass  the  message  on  to  her." 

This  big  burly  gendarme  had  evidently  a  warm 
and  kindly  heart.  According  to  his  own  statement 
he  had  watched  thousands  of  refugees,  and  his  sym- 
pathy went  out  to  these  homeless  people. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Evensong  in  the  Railway  Station  of  Smolensk. 

As  I  neared  the  railway  station  on  my  return  from 
a  walk  in  the  town,  the  sound  ot  church  music  reached 
my  ears.  I  found  the  third  class  waiting-room  trans- 
formed ;  all  the  benches  had  been  pushed  aside,  and 
Evensong  was  being  celebrated. 


26  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Peasants,  officers  and  soldiers  were  reverently  and 
devoutly  following  the  service  ;  some  were  kneeling 
and  a  few  had  prostrated  themselves.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  it  was  chiefly  of  soldiers  that  the  little 
congregation  was  composed,  perhaps  because  the  pro- 
bability of  having  to  die  soon  was  more  real  to  them 
than  to  the  others.  Every  now  and  then,  one  or 
other  would  get  up  and  walk  out  on  to  the  platform 
to  join  his  train  for  the  front.  They  had  committed 
their  souls  to  God,  and  then  went  away  to  face  death 
as  brave  men  do. 

All  round  the  waiting-room  people  were  sitting 
silently  watching  the  praying  men  and  listening  to  the 
music. 

Buying  and  selling  at  the  bar  went  on  in  a  whisper  ; 
no  voice  was  raised  in  thoughtless  conversation,  and 
if  a  child  spoke  out  in  its  high  treble  the 
mother  quickly  silenced  it.  The  whole  atmosphere 
of  the  third  class  waiting-room  was  solemn  and 
uplifting. 

The  consciousness  of  reality,  the  fellowship  of 
suffering,  the  spiritual  comfort  emanating  from  the 
service,  and  the  beautiful  harmonies  influenced  me 
too.  The  hard,  dry  pain  of  the  last  few  days,  which 
had  made  my  heart  feel  like  a  stone,  gave  way,  and 
my  grief  found  relief  in  tears.  Suddenly  I  felt  a  gentle 
touch  upon  my  arm,  and  a  caressing  voice,  full  of 
tenderness,  whispered  to  me  :  "  Barinka,  why 
weepest  thou  ?  " 

"  Because  my  mother  died  only  a  few  days  ago, 
and  I  was  not  able  to  go  to  her,"  I  said. 

"  Do  not  weep,  for  is  she  not  now  in  the  blessedness 
of  Paradise  ?  "  were  her  sweet  words. 


EVENSONG   IN   RAILWAY   STATION.  27 

Oh,  the  tenderness  of  that  peasant  woman's  sym- 
pathy ! 

A  Httle  later  I  turned  round  and,  looking  about 
me,  I  noticed  a  tall  lad  leaning  against  the  wall, 
his  body  shaken  with  sobs.  He,  too,  did  not 
seem  to  be  conscious  of  place  or  time.  Had  he, 
perhaps,  just  heard  of  the  death  of  his  father  ? 
Or  was  the  service  doing  for  him  what  it  had  done 
for  me  ? 

I  looked  at  the  choir,  which  was  just  then  singing 
the  Nunc  Dimittis.  The  choir-master,  an  elderly, 
shabbily-dressed  man,  was  conducting  the  small 
choir — three  girls,  a  few  boys,  and  four  men.  The 
leading  soprano,  a  good-looking  girl  of  about  seven- 
teen, was  singing  as  one  who  revelled  in  the  beauty 
of  sound.  Her  mind  was  evidently  not  in  the  words 
her  lips  were  singing,  for  she  stood  in  a  careless  attitude 
—a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes.  The  male  choristers 
seemed  distinctly  bored.  However,  to  the  praying 
men  and  to  the  listening  onlookers,  it  did  not  matter 
whether  the  choir  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  service 
or  no,  for  the  well-known  words  winged  on  harmonious 
sounds  carried  their  message  of  comfort  and  hope 
into  every  heart. 

Among  the  people  who  sat  along  the  wall  I  remarked 
my  friends — the  handsome  soldatka,  the  hunchback 
girl,  and  the  plucky  little  refugee  woman.  My  atten- 
tion was,  however,  especially  arrested  by  a  beautiful 
young  woman  in  the  national  costume  of  Georgia. 
She  was  standing  beside  her  husband,  a  tall,  dark 
mountaineer.  In  her  eyes  was  a  wistful,  questioning 
look — was  she  thinking  of  her  glorious  mountains  ? 
Or  did  she  feel  stifled  by  the  hot,  dusty  atmosphere 


2S  REAL   RUSSIANS 

of  the  waiting-room  ?     She  looked  so  utterly  out  of 
place  in  this  urban  environment. 

While  the  parents  were  worshipping  or  quietly 
watching  the  service,  the  children  were  playing,  but 
softly  and  noiselessly.  One  little  chap  of  about  four 
years  old  was  amusing  himself  dropping  a  live  cray- 
fish into  a  pail  of  water,  and  pulling  it  up  again  by  the 
tail.  On  the  floor  two  wee  girlies  were  sitting  sublimely 
happy — sucking  each  other's  fingers  and  beaming 
with  delight. 

The  kindly  gendarme  stood  near  the  door,  through 
which  the  soldiers  passed  as  they  rose  from  their 
knees  to  join  the  train. 

The  service  came  to  an  end  ;  the  congregation  dis- 
persed and,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  hubbub  of  the  railway 
station  was  resumed.  The  old  choir-master  was  col- 
lecting the  music,  and  the  girl  with  the  beautiful  voice 
was  just  starting  to  leave,  when  I  went  up  to  her. 

"  You  have  a  glorious  voice,"  I  told  her. 

"  Thank  you  for  telling  me  so,"  she  said  with  a  shy 
smile,  evidently  very  pleased  with  my  genuine 
admiration. 

The  choir-master  came  up  to  us,  and  I  asked  him 
whether  he  could  let  me  have  a  copy  of  tlie  Nttnc 
Dimittis. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  have  my  copy,"  he  said,  "  but  if 
you  will  come  with  me  to  the  town,  I  will  help  you  to 
buy  one.  I  have  trained  this  choir  myself,"  he  added 
proudly,  "  and  we  are  now  off  to  another  Church. 
We  come  here  every  Saturday,  for  the  service  is  held 
once  a  week  in  this  waiting-room."  Then,  heaving  a 
sigh,  he  said  ruefully  :  "  I  have  to  pay  my  choristers 
a  great  deal  of  money." 


EVENSONG   IN   RAILWAY  STATION.  29 

There  was  nothing  incongruous  in  the  combination 
of  busy  traffic  and  sacred  service,  and  I  Hke  to  think 
that  for  the  crowds  of  passengers  who  have  to  wait 
for  hours  in  that  station,  or  who  merely  cross  it  to  enter 
the  train,  the  Eternal  is  thus  brought  into  the 
Transient. 

We  went  together  to  the  best  music  shop  in  the  town 
and  bought  the  chant  I  had  set  my  heart  on.  On  my 
return  fiom  the  town  I  had  supper,  and  then,  at  last, 
after  all  those  many  hours  at  the  railway  station, 
the  time  came  for  me  to  take  the  train  which  was  to 
bring  me  to  my  own  people. 


HbiH*  OTnymaeuiH. 


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30 


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31 


32  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

Not  Expected. 

The  train  slowed  down.  One  of  the  passengers,  who 
had  obtained  only  standing  room  and  was  waiting  to  get 
my  seat  the  moment  I  left  it,  kindly  handed  out  my 
hand  luggage. 

It  was  midnight.  A  sleepy  porter  walked  up  slowly 
to  me  : 

"  Has  the  carriage  from  Sofkino  been  sent  ?  "  I  asked 
him. 

"  No,  Baryinia,  there  is  no  vehicle  of  any  kind  here," 
he  rephed.     "  Evidently  they  are  not  expecting  you." 

"  They  should  be  doing  so,"  I  said,  "  seeing  that 
I  sent  a  telegram  two  days  ago  to  announce  my 
arrival." 

"  What  are  two  days  at  the  present  time  !  "  remarked 
the  man  contemptuously. 

Meanwhile  we  had  entered  the  waiting-room,  where 
a  few  peasants  gathered  around  us  when  they  realised 
what  was  the  matter. 

One  of  them,  a  lame  man  with  a  club  foot,  said 
eagerly  :  "  I  will  take  a  horse  and  ride  to  your  brother's 
estate,  and  they  will  send  the  carriage  at  once  to 
fetch  you." 

I  accepted  his  offer  with  thanks,  and  as  it  was  a 
warm  June  night  I  sat  down  on  a  bench  outside  the 
station  building  to  enjoy  the  balmy  air  and  the  wonder- 
ful white  night. 

A  few  moments  later  someone  came  up  to  me. 


NOT  EXPECTED.  33 

"  A  carriage  has  just  come  for  a  gentleman  who  is 
going  to  the  same  place  as  you  are  !  " 

I  followed  the  man  into  the  waiting-room  where  the 
station-master  informed  me  that  a  small  vehicle  had 
been  sent  to  fetch  "  the  Agent  " — perhaps  I  would 
not  mind  driving  with  him. 

A  well-dressed  man  stepped  up  to  me,  bowed  politely, 
and  expressed  the  hope  that  I  would  accompany  him. 

"  Olga  Nicolaevna  is  expecting  me,"  he  said  with 
evident  assurance. 

We  walked  out,  and  there  stood  a  small  springless 
cart  and  a  young  lad  was  holding  the  reins. 

"  What  shall  we  do  about  my  luggage  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  will  tie  it  on  for  you,"  volunteered  one  of  the 
peasants,  "  and  I  will  also  lend  the  rope.  I  have 
been  in  service  with  your  people,"  he  added,  as  if  to 
explain  his  kindly  act. 

A  few  minutes  later  we  started,  I  feeling  distinctly 
uncomfortable.  A  horrible  fear  was  gripping  my 
heart.  "  Who  was  this  agent  ?  What  might  his 
business  be  ?  "  I  suddenly  remembered  stories  I 
had  read  of  moneylenders,  and  of  agents  coming  to 
claim  mortgages.  Did  matters  stand  badly  with 
my  dear  ones,   I  wondered  ? 

We  drove  through  a  charming  countryside,  over 
undulating  ground,  past  fields  and  forest-side. 

"  I  did  not  know  this  part  was  so  pretty,"  remarked 
the  stranger. 

"  Look  at  that  glorious  sky,"  I  said,  pointing  to 
the  far  horizon,  which  was  illuminated  by  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  although  it  was  midnight.  We  drove 
through  a  village  where  everybody  was  asleep,  even  the 
dogs,  which  in  daytime  run  after  one  and  bark  angrily. 


34  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  I  am  very  interested  to  see  everything  for  myself," 
my  neighbour  on  the  narrow  seat  remarked  to  me 
genially.  "  Of  course,  I  had  heard  that  your  brother's 
estate  is  quite  a  model  one,  and  also  that  your  sister- 
in-law  is  carrying  on  the  work  splendidly  during  his 
absence.  Olga  Nicolaevna  wants  to  transfer  the 
insurance  of  the  farm  buildings  to  the  company  I 
represent,"  he  added. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  I  thought,  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief, 
"  then  after  all  he  is  only  an  insurance  agent."  The 
fear  of  moneylenders  vanished. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  she  is  a  splendid  manager." 

Our  drive  of  some  four  and  a  half  miles  was  nearing 
its  end — leaving  the  village  church  to  the  left,  and 
driving  along  the  lake,  we  passed  the  farm  buildings. 

Perfect  silence  was  reigning,  but  as  we  drove  close 
up  to  the  house  a  dog  began  to  bark.  There  was  no 
need  to  ring  the  bell — the  dog  had  aroused  the  young 
servant,  who,  bare-footed  and  rubbing  her  sleepy  eyes, 
opened  the  door  for  us. 

"  Diana,  be  still  !  "  she  called  out  to  the  furiously 
barking  young  white  borzoi. 

She  welcomed  the  agent  as  someone  expected — but 
at  me  she  looked  with  surprise. 

"  I   am  your  Barin's  sister,"    I   said,   "  and  have 
announced  my  arrival  by  telegram." 

"  You  are  not  expected,"  she  replied. 

"  Diana,  Diana,  why  do  you  bark  so  loudly  ?  "  I 
suddenly  heard  my  sister-in-law  call  out.  She  had 
come  from  her  room,  and  then,  looking  down  from 
the  parapet  into  the  Hall  to  sec  what  was  happening, 
she  suddenly  recognised   me. 


CONTENTED   PRISONERS   OF  WAR.  35 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

Some  Contented  Prisoners  of  War. 

We  walked  across  the  big,  open  space  in  front  of  the 
house,  when  one  of  the  fourteen  Austrian  prisoners 
of  war  employed  there  as  farm  labourers,  came  up  and 
said  in  German  to  my  sister-in-law : 

"  Gracious  lady,  please  let  me  go  and  work  on  the 
field." 

"  Emil,"  she  said  in  the  same  language,  "  I  thought 
your  legs  were  too  bad  to  work  in  the  fields,  but  I 
presume  that  you  are  really  tired  of  cutting  up  clover 
for  the  cattle." 

"  No,  gracious  lady,  really  I  am  ever  so  much  better, 
and  my  legs  ache  less,  but  I  think  it  would  be  a  shame 
for  me  to  have  been  in  the  country  and  not  to  have 
learned  how  to  harvest." 

"  Emil,  Emil,"  said  the  lady,  smiling  and  shaking 
her  head,  "  you're  just  tired  of  looking  after  the  cattle, 
and  you  want  to  stand  in  the  field  and  boss  the  women 
as  they  work." 

"  Emil  is  terribly  lazy,"  she  remarked  to  me  as  we 
walked  on, 

"  Gracious  lady,  you  will  not  forget  my  request," 
the  man  called  after  us. 

I  turned  round  and  said  to  him,  "  Emil,  you  are  well 
cared  for  here,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Ja — leider  "  (Yes,  unfortunately). 

I  turned  to  my  sister-in-law,  who  is  looking  after 
the   estate    while    my    brother    is    in    captivity    in 


36  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Germany,  and  said,  "  I  wonder  why  he  said 
'  Unfortunately  '  ?  " 

"  Emil,"  she  called  out,  "  why  did  you  say 
'  Leider  '  ?  " 

The  man  looked  a  little  confused,  and  then  replied, 
"  Oh,  in  my  part  of  Germany,  '  unfortunately  '  and 
'  Thank  God  '  are  used  in  the  same  sense." 

We  laughed  at  this  ingenious  reply.  Indeed,  he 
ought  to  have  said  "  Thank  God,"  for  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  fact  of  being  far  away  from  home,  and  captives 
of  war,  these  men  might  have  been  absolutely  happy. 
No  one  interfered  with  the  prisoners,  and  these  four- 
teen men  were  treated  just  as  ordinary  labourers. 
No  one  even  locked  them  up  at  night,  as  is  the  case 
with  Russian  prisoners  of  war  in  Germany  under  the 
same  conditions,  as  I  had  been  told  by  some  of  our 
men  who  had  escaped  from  there. 

These  Austrians,  Galicians  and  Ruthenians  were 
well-fed,  clothed,  and  housed,  and  even  received  some 
wages. 

During  my  stay  on  the  estate,  one  of  them  fell  ill, 
and  had  to  be  taken  to  the  nearest  hospital.  In 
order  to  carry  out  the  letter  of  the  law  that  a  prisoner 
should  not  be  sent  any  distance  unaccompanied,  a 
peasant  woman  was  sent  off  with  him  to  the  nearest 
town.  On  her  return  she  reported  that  as  her  charge 
had  looked  very  pale,  she  had  taken  a  fly  from  the 
station  to  drive  him  to  the  hospital  ! 

There  is  no  fear  whatever  of  the  majority  of  these 
prisoners  escaping,  for  they  have  quite  frankly  declared 
their  intention  of  remaining  in  Russia  for  ever.  Not 
so  Emil,  who,  although  an  Austrian  subject,  hails  from 
Cologne,  and  has  received  a  good  education.     Small 


CONTENTED   PRISONERS   OF  WAR.  37 

wonder,  therefore,  that  he  does  not  care  to  cut  fodder 
for  the  cattle  ;  but,  after  all,  it  was  his  own  choice  to 
come  to  the  farm. 

Everywhere  in  Russia  one  sees  these  Austrian 
prisoners,  who  seem  quite  at  home.  They  work  on 
the  railroads,  in  cities,  in  gardens  and  workshops. 
It  is  merely  by  their  grey  uniform  that  one  recognises 
them. 

"  Where  is  the  Russian  captivity  ?  "  is  often  asked 
by  the  mei)  who  surrender,  as  though  captivity  were  a 
place. 

Those  who  are  kept  interned  are  fed  exactly  as  the 
Russian  soldiers  are,  for  to  the  Russians  the  prisoners 
are  objects  of  pity.  The  moment  the  foe  is  a  captive, 
he  is  someone  to  be  pitied.  How  different  this  from  the 
German  practice  ! 

"  Germans  will  have  a  bad  time  in  Russia  after  the 
war,"  remarked  a  soldier  to  me,  who  had  escaped 
from  captivity  from  one  of  the  worst  prison  camps. 
"  For  we  "  (he  meant  the  million  odd  Russian  prisoners 
of  war  in  Germany) — "  we  Russians  know  now  what 
the  Germans  really  are." 

Gone  is  the  glamour  that  all  things  German  formerly 
had  in  the  eyes  of  the  people.  Gone  for  ever  the 
feeling  of  inferiority  to  a  superior  race.  "  Vilghelm's  " 
subjects  will  not  find  a  welcome  in  Russia  again. 

As  to  himself — "  You  see,"  said  a  peasant  woman 
to  me,  "he  is  not  really  a  himian  being,  and,  if  you 
will  excuse  me  saying  so,  he  is  Antichrist,  and  he  will 
have  no  chance  of  appearing  before  God,  but  will  go 
straight   into  boiling  pitch  when  he  dies." 

Among  the  cattle  for  which  Emil  has  to  cut  up  fodder 
are  a  young  bull  and  a  cow — "  Vilghelm  and  his  wife." 


2S017I 


38  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

The  wife  has  a  silver  cUp  in  her  ear,  as  belonging  to 
the  Kaiser's  model  farm  in  East  Prussia  which  the 
Russians  had  taken  in  the  early  days  of  the  war. 
"  Vilghelm  "  was  born  in  captivity  of  a  mother  from 
that  farm. 

To  these  two   Prussians,   at   least,  captivity  is  no 
hardship. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Heavy  Hearts. 

Before  the  verandah  of  the  country-house  stood 
a  group  of  peasant  girls,  healthy,  sturdy  wenches  in 
brightly  embroidered  blouses  and  aprons.  They  had 
been  working  for  several  days  in  the  fields  and  were 
now  come  for  their  wages.  One  of  the  girls,  who 
seemed  to  be  the  leader,  enumerated  the  number 
of  days  each  one  of  her  companions  had  been  working. 
Seventy  kopecks  a  day  they  were  paid,  but  some 
had  been  fewer  days  at  work  than  others.  Finally, 
the  sum-total  had  been  reckoned  up,  and  the  girls 
were  ready  to  go  home.  On  former  occasions  it  had 
been  my  delight  to  hear  the  singing  of  the  peasant 
women  as  they  returned  from  their  work,  their  clear 
voices  melodiously  floating  through  the  air.  This 
summer  they  were  silent. 

"  Will  you  not  sing  one  of  your  beautiful  songs 
when  you  leave  us  ?  "  I  said.  "  We  love  to  hear 
you  sing." 


THE  WORST  OF  RUSSIAN   ROADS.  39 

The  girls  seemed  pleased,  and  looked  down  shyly  ; 
but  then  one  of  them,  raising  her  head  and  looking 
steadily  at  us  with  a  thoughtful  expression  on  her  bright 
young  face,  remarked  slowly  : 

"  We  have  not  many  songs  now — the  heart  is  not 
light  enough." 

"  Perhaps  the  war  will  be  sooner  over  than  we  think," 
I  said. 

"  May  that  holy  hour  come  soon,"  was  her  fervent 
reply. 


CHAPTER   X. 
The  Worst  of  Russian  Roads. 

"  Would  you  care  to  have  a  drive  ?  " 

Of  course  I  welcomed  the  proposal,  and  soon  after 
the  coachman  drove  up  with  two  beautiful  black 
horses.  We  started  at  moderate  pace,  but  very  soon 
the  horses  began  to  fly  over  the  ground,  their  graceful 
prancing  legs  kicking  up  the  dust  of  the  soft  country 
road. 

It  was  hopeless  even  to  attempt  to  look  at  the 
charming  landscape — the  ripe  cornfields  and  the  flower- 
bedecked  meadows.  All  I  could  do  was  to  cover  my 
eyes,  if  I  did  not  wish  to  get  blinded,  for  every  moment 
little  pieces  of  dry  caked  mud  were  being  kicked  into 
the  carriage  by  the  horses,  which  were  enjoying 
themselves  thoroughly.  This  drive  was  a  keen 
disappointment    to   me,    though  I  love  fast  driving  ; 


40  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

for  what  is  the  good  if  one  has  to  sit  with  covered 
face  ? 

I  thought  of  the  beautiful  smooth  country  roads 
in  England,  and,  turning  to  my  sister-in-law,  I  re- 
marked, "  Give  me  Russian  horses,  but  on  English 
roads !  " 

The  next  drive  was  more  successful.  We  did  a 
thing  one  would  hardly  do  in  England — we  drove  right 
over  the  meadows  without  troubling  about  roads  at  all, 
and  then  into  thelforest.  There,  part  of  the  track  was 
so  narrow,  and  the  branches  of  the  trees  so  low,  that 
we  had  repeatedly  to  brush  them  aside  with  our  arms 
if  we  did  not  wish  the  twigs  to  strike  our  faces.  It 
was,  nevertheless,  delightful  to  drive  like  this  into  the 
depths  of  the  forest,  for  in  parts  the  track  was  good 
and  free  from  danger,  so  that  with  eyes  unmolested 
by  either  twigs  or  dust,  I  was  able  to  enjoy  the  beauty 
of  it  all. 

As  we  drove  home  my  eyes  caught  sight  of  a  row 
of  women  working  in  a  field,  stooping  low.  They 
all  wore  red  dresses  and  looked  like  poppies. 

An  Austrian  prisoner  of  war,  standing  by  in  a  lordly 
fashion,  acted  as  superintendent  of  these  Russian 
women. 

When  the  time  came  to  leave  for  Petrograd,  the 
troika  drove  up,  and  the  children  and  I  were  taken  in 
it  to  the  station.  This  time  I  sat  so  as  to  be  less  exposed 
to  the  flying  dust,  and  could  watch  with  real  pleasure 
the  graceful  movements  of  the  horses. 

"  Our  troika  is  the  best  in  the  whole  district,"  said 
my  little  nephew  with  pride  ;  "  whenever  somebody 
very  important  comes  to  our  neighbourhood,  father's 
horses  are  always  borrowed  for  the  occasion." 


A  Country  Road. 


J 

• 

r 

:i' 

^||#'VP 

S^^H^^-r^^S^N^^sl 

The  Cobble  Pavement  of  Moscow. 


Face  p.  40. 


THE  WORST  OF  RUSSIAN   ROADS.  41 

At  the  station  a  crowd  of  peasants  was  clustering 
round  an  old  man  who  was  selling  birch-bark  shoes. 

"  Do  you  know  that  rich  ladies  are  now  beginning 
to  wear  such  shoes  ?  "  I  said  to  the  pedlar  :  "  boots  are 
getting  so  dear,  and  these  ladies  wish  to  set  a  good 
example." 

"  \Vhat  next  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  quite  distressed  ; 
"  if  ladies  are  wearing  bark  shoes  their  price  will  go  up, 
and  what  will  the  poor  moujik  do  then  for  footgear  ?  " 

In  Moscow  we  had  to  drive  across  the  town  from 
one  station  to  the  other. 

"  What  terrible  pavement  !  "  I  remarked  to  the 
driver.    "  Could  you  not  drive  us  where  it  jolts  less  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want,  Baryinia  ?  All  our  streets 
are  like  this,  and  in  order  to  drive  you  along  the  few 
well-paved  streets  I  should  have  to  make  a  roundabout 
journey." 

As  it  was,  even  by  the  shortest  route,  the  distance 
he  took  us  was  five  miles  over  cobbles  and  holes. 

At  other  times  it  was  in  Petrograd  that  driving 
caused  suffering.  When  I  was  a  child  the  cobblestones 
of  Petrograd  had  seemed  to  be  the  right  thing,  for 
young  children  and  healthy  people  do  not  mind 
being    jolted. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  in  those  old  days  we  never  thought 
of  the  cobbles,  because  during  the  summer  months 
everybody  is  away  in  the  country,  and,  of  course, 
in  winter  the  streets  are  covered  with  snow,  and  to 
drive  over  the  hard,  frozen  ground  is  pleasure 
unalloyed. 

Now,  however,  I  felt  the  deepest  sympathy  and  pity 
for  anybody  with  spinal  trouble  who  might  be  forced 
to  drive  about  in  Petrograd. 


42  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  Are  the  pavements  not  dreadful  ?  "  said  my 
English  hostess,  as  we  drove  along  in  her  motor,  for 
every  few  moments  we  had  to  clutch  the  seats  as  we 
were  being  tossed  up  and  down.  It  was  when  we  came 
to  the  quay,  and  to  those  few  elegant  streets  which 
are  paved  with  wood  blocks,  that  we  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  smooth  and  swift  motion  of  the  car. 

The  Nevski  Prospect,  Petrograd's  chief  thorough- 
fare, was  being  repaired  in  various  places.  I  quoted 
to  my  hostess  a  remark  by  Bismarck  :  "  The  inhabitants 
of  Petrograd  are  very  proud  of  their  wood  pavement, 
and  yet  they  are  really  never  able  to  enjoy  it  ;  for 
in  winter  it  is  covered  with  snow,  and  in  summer  it  is 
up  for  repair." 

He  was  really  not  far  wrong.  Climate  in  Russia 
constitutes  one  great  difficulty  in  getting  good  roads 
— economy  another. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
A  Visit  to  the  Troitsa-SerCzEI  Lavra. 

It  was  a  hot  June  day,  and  a  large  family  party  was 
crowded  into  the  same  compartment  as  ourselves. 
We  soon  entered  into  conversation,  and  discovered  that 
the  two  ladies,  the  little  girl,  the  two  young  men  and 
two  boys  were  all  bound  to  the  same  destination  as  we 
were — namely,  the  famous  Troitsa-Sergei  Lavra. 

The  little  girl  looked  so  white  and  tired,  but  she  was 


St.  Sergei  Radonejski. 


[By  Nesteror. 


Face  p.  42. 


VISIT  TO  TROITSA-SERGEI   LAVRA.  43 

quite  as  zealous  a  "  bogomolka,"  or  pilgrim,  as  were 
her  elders. 

"  She  wants  to  pray  for  her  father  who  is  out  at  the 
front,"  remarked  her  mother,  gently  stroking  her 
little  maiden's  hah",  as  she  lay  on  her  lap.  "  We  often 
find  her  on  her  knees,  praying  for  her  father." 

At  the  last  station  before  Troitsa,  crowds  of  people 
left  the  train  in  order  to  proceed  on  foot  to  the  neigh- 
bouring monastery,  in  which  the  parents  of  the  great 
saint,  Sergei  Radonejski,  the  founder  of  the  Troitsa 
Monastery,  lay  buried. 

A  few  very  ramshackle  old  droshki  stood  outside  the 
station  ;  both  horses  and  drivers  seemed  to  belong  to 
the  remote  past.  One  of  these  derelicts  drove  us  to  the 
hostel  of  the  monastery,  and  all  along  the  path  we 
passed  streams  of  pilgrims,  mostly  peasants  or 
working  people,  also  people  of  the  lower  middle  class, 
all  garbed  in  their  very  best.  Most  of  the  women  were 
dressed  in  sombre  colours,  and  wore  black  shawls 
on  their  heads. 

We  drove  through  a  suburb  with  broad  streets,  and 
then  up  a  hill  towards  the  Lavra.  The  glittering 
gilded  domes  had  caught  the  rays  of  the  evening  sun. 
The  high,  massive  walls  of  the  famous  monastery 
formed  one  side  of  a  large  market-place,  while 
opposite  was  a  long  row  of  shops,  and  the  large  white 
building  of  the  hostel  formed  the  third,  narrower  end. 
As  we  drove  up  through  the  fourth  open  side  we 
looked  back,  and  beheld  a  lovely  view  of  gardens  on 
undulating  grounds,  and  among  the  trees  the  onion- 
shaped  domes  of  churches.  One  of  these  was  especially 
striking,  as  it  was  painted  sapphire  blue,  unrelieved 
by  any  gilding. 


44  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

We  were  suddenly  transported  into  an  entirely 
different  Russia  from  that  of  Petrograd,  or  even  of 
Moscow.  Our  poor  ricketty  droshka  brought  us  safely 
to  the  hostel,  in  which  those  pilgrims  who  can  afford 
the  very  moderate  charges  are  put  up,  but  no  one 
may  stay  here  for  more  than  three  days. 

My  sister  and  I  were  offered  a  large  room  with 
three  windows,  partitioned  off  into  two  small  bedrooms, 
a  tiny  dressing-room  and  a  sitting-room.  There  were 
only  the  most  necessary  articles  of  furniture  ;  each 
bed  had  a  mattress  and  a  quilt,  but  neither  pillow, 
sheet  nor  blanket ;  these  the  visitors  were  supposed 
to  provide  for  themselves.  Everything,  however, 
was  spotlessly  clean,  and  an  air  of  freshness  pervaded 
the  whole  apartment. 

We  unpacked  our  holdalls,  ordered  the  samovar  to 
be  ready  in  our  room  by  nine  o'clock,  and  then  set 
off  for  the  monastery.  On  the  way  out,  I  asked  a 
priest  how  best  to  get  at  the  library,  which  I  was 
specially  anxious  to  see.  The  monk  advised  me  to 
enquire  for  Father  Klavdia,  the  librarian. 

It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  the  tiny  shops  dealing 
in  ikons,  crosses,  and  wooden  mementoes  were  shut. 
They  looked  like  barnacles  stuck  against  the  big, 
stone  walls. 

Joining  the  stream  of  pilgrims  we  entered  the  great 
gates.  We  passed  under  the  archway,  the  walls  of 
which  are  beautifully  decorated  with  frescoes  illus- 
trating the  life  of  St.  Sergei,  one  of  Russia's  most  loved 
and  most  popular  saints. 

The  founder  of  the  Troitsa  Monastery  was  a  man 
you  could  not  help  loving,  a  man  whose  life  was  pure 
and    lowly,    who   loved    God    and   man,    serving    his 


VISIT  TO  TROITSA-SERGEI   LAVRA.  45 

Maker  in  prayer  and  devotions,  and  spending  his 
strength  in  doing  good  to  his  fellow-men.  The 
luminous  personality  of  Saint  Sergei  stands  out  boldly 
against  the  dark  background  of  Russian  life  in  the  14th 
Century.  The  "  Wonderful  Old  Man,"  as  he  came  to 
be  called,  was  one  whose  life  was  a  fulfilment  of  the 
beatitudes,  and  his  memory  has  been  cherished  for 
centuries. 

Around  his  life  a  cycle  of  legends  has  grown  up  ; 
the  pious  people  believe  in  his  miraculous  powers, 
and  consider  him  to  be  a  saint  whose  intercession 
is  effectual. 

The  monastery  having  acquired  renown  through  the 
saintliness  of  Saint  Sergei,  became  in  course  of  time 
more  and  more  famous.  From  this  centre  light  and 
love  went  out  to  the  ignorant  and  the  needy,  and 
in  time  of  famine  its  granaries  stood  open  for  the  poor, 
and  for  the  great  it  served,  too,  as  a  place  of  refuge 
in  times  of  danger.  Every  building  within  the  precincts 
of  the  monastery  is  connected  with  the  name  of  some 
famous  ruler,  and  the  rich  decorations  of  the  churches, 
the  costly  treasures  they  contain,  the  wealth  of  its 
ikons,  many  covered  with  jewels,  prove  the  fact  that 
this  sanctuary  is  justified  in  its  claim  to  be  a  place 
of  peculiar  importance. 

The  nucleus  of  it  all,  the  centre  around  which  this 
whole  compound  of  beautiful  churches,  chapels,  halls, 
belfries  and  scholastic  buildings,  has  grown,  is  the 
tomb  of  the  humble  founder  of  the  monastery,  St. 
Sergei  Radonejski. 

Having  been  directed  by  a  kindly  monk  to  the 
church  to  which  we  should  go  first,  we  entered  the 
Troitsa  Cathedral.     The  building  was  so  crowded  that 


46  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

we  had  no  chance  of  penetrating  any  further  than 
the  spacious  porch,  but  we  did  not  mind  this  much, 
for  even  here  we  were  surrounded  by  worshippers. 

It  was  indeed  upHfting  to  be  amongst  people  whose 
very  faces  were  full  of  a  quiet  and  holy  reverence  ; 
at  the  same  time  our  sympathy  went  out  to  those  whose 
looks  betrayed  the  anguish  of  their  hearts. 

We  stood  among  the  crowd  following  the  service, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  wax  taper  was  handed  us 
from  behind,  to  be  passed  on,  until  someone  close 
to  the  great  candlestick,  which  stood  before  certain 
specially  sacred  ikons,  could  place  it  in  one  of  the  little 
candle-holders. 

The  heat  of  a  June  night,  the  crowds  within  the 
building,  and  the  hundreds  of  burning  candles  made  the 
atmosphere  stifling.  Some  of  the  people  fainted, 
and  a  father,  with  the  apparently  lifeless  form  of  his 
son  hoisted  upon  his  shoulder,  pushed  his  way 
desperately  through  the  crowd  to  the  open  door. 

We  slipped  out  of  the  church,  and  going  up  to  a  rather 
pompous-looking  monk,  who  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
in  the  garden,  I  said  : 

"  Father,  would  you  kindly  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  Father  Klavdia  ?  I  have  come  from  England  ; 
I  want  so  much  to  see  your  famous  library." 

"  Father  Klavdia  is  now  taking  part  in  the  service. 
Come  to-morrow,"  he  replied. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  I  answered,  "  but  I  leave  to- 
morrow at  ten  o'clock,  and  even  if  I  cannot  see  the 
library,  I  would  so  much  like  to  be  shown  over  the 
monastery,  and  perhaps  you  could  direct  me  to  some- 
one who  would  take  mc  round." 

The  good-natured  monk   asked   us  to  wait   for  a 


VISIT  TO  TROITSA-SERGEI  LAVRA  47 

moment.  He  went  into  the  church,  returning  a  few 
moments  later  with  Father  Klavdia  himself,  whom  I 
told  that  I  was  a  Russian  living  in  England,  and  that  in 
studying  the  material  for  my  book,  "  Some  Russian 
Heroes,  Saints  and  Sinners,"  I  had  made  a  careful 
study  of  St.  Sergei's  life,  and  was  therefore  naturally 
interested  in  the  Troitsa  Lavra. 

I  also  told  him  that  my  object  in  writing  that  book 
was  to  enable  the  British  public  to  understand  Russia 
better.     Father  Klavdia  became  all  eagerness. 

"  I  cannot  show  you  the  library."  he  said  regretfully, 
"  because  it  is  closed  until  Monday,  but  I  will  show 
you  all  I  can." 

True  to  his  word,  he  took  us  into  various  churches 
and  chapels,  showed  us  the  tombs  of  all  the  saints 
and  abbots  who  lay  buried  there,  and  told  us  the  cost 
of  the  massive  silver  coffins.  St.  Sergei's  tomb,  how- 
ever, we  could  not  see  that  night,  as  service  was  going 
on  in  that  church. 

The  kindly  monk  took  us  into  the  refectory — the 
trapeznaya — in  which  monks  and  male  pilgrims  have 
their  meals.  The  walls  were  decorated  with  pictures, 
and  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall  hung  a  gigantic  cande- 
labrum, which  he  told  us  had  been  carved  by 
Peter  the  Great.  One  of  the  pilgrims  wandering 
about  looking  at  the  pictures,  seeing  that  the  monk 
explained  them  to  us,  said  to  her  companion,  "  Come, 
let  us  listen  to  what  the  Father  says."  Our  guide, 
however,  frustrated  her  expectations,  for  turning  round 
he  said  rather  curtly  to  the  women,  "  Go  away  and 
pray." 

He  next  took  us  to  a  little  building  erected  over  a 
miraculous  spring,   the  waters  of  which  are  said  to 


48  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

have  healed  many  sick,  especially  blind  people.  Two 
boys  were  in  the  act  of  drinking  the  water  out  of 
wooden  spoons,  and  we  bought  some  from  the  monk  in 
attendance. 

As  we  came  out  of  the  building.  Father  Klavdia 
pointed  out  the  high  belfry  close  by,  which  had  been 
built  in  the  reigns  of  three  rulers,  and  told  us  that  the 
bells  weighed  8,000  pouds  (320,000  lbs.). 

It  was,  however,  when  he  took  us  into  the  monastic 
buildings  and  showed  us  the  room  which  had  served 
as  a  hospital  in  the  days  of  Ivan  the  Terrible,  that  I 
began  to  feel  at  home,  for  now  we  stood  on  the  historic 
ground  which  I  knew  so  well.  The  monk  led  us  to  the 
top  of  the  high  wall,  which  in  days  gone  by  had  made 
the  monastery  an  almost  impregnable  fortress.  Along 
this  broad  wall,  which  is  some  fifteen  feet  in  breadth, 
we  walked,  treading  the  flag-stones  which  here  and 
there  had  been  worn  into  grooves  by  the  feet  of  genera- 
tions of  monks,  our  guide  meanwhile  telling  us  the 
thrilling  history  of  the  famous  monastery. 

He  showed  us  the  spot  where  the  attacks  of  the 
besieging  Poles  had  been  fiercest  in  the  year  1608,  and 
pointed  out  the  aperture  through  which  boiling  tar  had 
been  poured  down  upon  them.  Then  he  pointed  out 
to  us  the  tower  from  which  Peter  the  Great  as  a  lad 
used  to  shoot  wild  duck,  and  related  many  other  in- 
cidents of  interest. 

Father  Klavdia  seemed  delighted  to  meet  with  some- 
one from  England,  who  knew  the  history  of  his  beloved 
monastery,  "  as  well  as,  if  not  better,  than  he  did 
himself,"  as  he  politely,  but  not  very  truthfully,  put  it. 

As  we  followed  him  along,  we  looked  down  into  the 
quadrangle  of  churches  and  gardens,  and  upon  the  large 


VISIT   TO  TROITSA-SERGEI    LAVRA.  49 

building  of  the  Moscow  Seminary,  while  on  the  other 
side,  looking  through  the  holes  in  the  battlements, 
we  saw  extensive  orchards  and  several  large  buildings 
which  are  now  being  used  as  hospitals  for  the  wounded. 

The  monk  told  us  of  what  he  called  a  "  gratuitous  " 
attack  made  upon  the  monastery  by  the  newspapers, 
which  accused  it  of  not  doing  enough  for  the  war. 

"  They  do  not  know  what  they  are  talking  about," 
he  said,  "  only  300  of  the  brothers  are  left.  All  the  lay- 
brothers  and  seminarists  have  been  called  up,  and  we 
who  are  here  are  nursing  the  sick,  and  are  housing 
and  feeding  daily  some  4,000  refugees  and  soldiers. 
Apart  from  this  daily  expense,  the  monastery  has 
given  one  million  roubles  in  cash  to  the  war  funds." 

At  this  very  moment,  I  saw  some  soldiers  below  in 
the  yard,  setting  trestle  tables  in  preparation  for  a 
meal. 

We  now  came  to  the  Whispering  Tower,  a  freak  of 
acoustics,  and  having  asked  my  sister  to  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  tower.  Father  Klavdia  told  me  to  go  into 
a  corner  with  my  face  to  the  wall  ;  he  himself  crossed 
to  the  opposite  corner,  where  he  placed  himself  in  the 
same  position  as  m3''self. 

Suddenly  I  heard  a  voice  asking  me  distinctly, 
"  Can  you  hear  m.e  speak  ?  If  so,  whisper  quite 
softly  a  reply." 

Then  turning  to  my  sister,  in  his  ordinary  voice  he 
said,  "  Did  you  hear  anything  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  she  replied. 

He  then  related  how  during  the  siege  of  the  Troitsa 
Lavra  in  the  17th  Century,  a  monk  on  guard  in  this 
tower  had,  to  his  surprise,  been  able  to  overhear 
everj'^thing  said  underneath  the  walls  on  both  sides,  and 


50  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

thanks  to  this  a  plot  was  discovered.  Since  then  archi- 
tects have  tried  in  vain  to  find  out  the  secret  of  this 
tower,  but  have  all  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  must 
be  simply  a  freak  of  nature,  and  no  deliberate  plan 
of  the  builders. 

The  last  bit  of  the  wall  was  "  grilled  off,"  and  pointing 
to  it,  our  guide  remarked,  smiling,  "  Here  His  Majesty 
enjoys  a  smoke  when  he  honours  the  monastery  with  a 
visit." 

Our  walk  of  about  a  mile  along  the  wall  now  came 
to  an  end. 

We  thanked  the  monk  in  a  practical  way  for  "having 
spared  so  much  of  his  time  in  order  to  take  us  about. 
He  invited  me  heartily  to  come  back  some  day  for  a 
longer  time  to  study  as  much  as  I  liked  in  the  library, 
of  which  he  was  the  custodian. 

On  our  way  to  the  hostel  we  passed  through  the 
archway,  and  now  we  gave  ourselves  time  to  look  more 
closely  at  the  frescoes,  which  we  found  to  be  most 
attractive  paintings,  executed  by  a  monk  after  the 
manner  of  Nesterov,  the  famous  modern  illustrator 
of  the  life  of  St.  Sergei.  We  had  already  been  struck 
by  the  frescoes  on  one  of  the  churches,  and  as  we 
studied  the  gentle  faces  of  the  saints,  we  realised  that 
in  nearly  every  case  they  were  those  of  ordinary 
Russians.  The  monastery  has  a  school  of  ikonography, 
and  from  the  few  samples  we  saw  it  certainly  deserves 
the  renown  it  enjoys. 

Still  within  the  grounds  were  several  shops,  the 
largest  a  bookshop,  in  which  the  publications  of  the 
monastery  were  offered  for  sale.  As  I  walked  around 
the  spacious  showroom,  I  almost  felt  myself  back  in 
Northumberland  Avenue,  in  the  shop  of  the  S.P.C.K. 


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VISIT  TO  TROITSA  SERGEI  LAVRA.  51 

A  little  further  on,  close  to  the  gate,  we  came  to  a 
small,  wooden  shed,  in  which  were  displayed  ikons, 
crosses,  beads,  etc. 

Here  I  asked  for  pictures  of  the  beautiful  frescoes, 
but,  unfortunately,  there  were  none  for  sale.  Then 
I  enquired  whether  1  could  not  at  least  get  some 
illustrations  of  the  history  of  the  monastery,  but  even 
about  this  there  was  a  doubt. 

We  had  a  nice  talk  with  the  monk  in  attendance, 
who  asked  us  many  questions  about  England.  Seeing 
my  disappointment  at  not  being  able  to  get  any  of 
the  pictures  I  wanted,  he  asked  me  to  return  early  next 
morning,  as  he  would  try  to  look  up  a  few  old  coloured 
illustrations  now  out  of  print. 

It  was  quite  late  when  we  walked  out  of  the  gates  ; 
we  found  the  large  market-place  almost  deserted. 

On  the  table  in  our  room  at  the  hostel  stood  a  samovar 
singing  away  to  show  us  that  the  water  was  boiling. 
There  was  also  a  jug  of  milk  and  some  bread  which 
the  hostel  had  provided  for  us.  We  made  tea,  and 
after  a  very  frugal  supper,  lay  down  to  rest,  for  at  four 
o'clock  we  wanted  to  attend  the  early  service.  We 
slept  soundly  on  our  sheetless  beds,  our  heads  resting 
on  the  pillows  we  had  brought  with  us,  while  our  rugs 
did  service  for  blankets. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  peace  and  solemnity,  and 
the  wonderful  spirit  of  hope  which  pervaded  the 
atmosphere  of  that  early  morning  hour,  as  we  crossed 
the  quiet  market-place  and  entered  the  monastery. 
Crowds  of  people  were  silently  wending  their  way 
towards  the  gates,  and  soon  we  were  merged  in  the 
throng  of  worshippers.  It  was  all  so  harmonious, 
so  intensely  human,  and  yet  so  gloriously  divine. 


52  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

In  the  Cathedral  my  attention  was  suddenly 
arrested  by  a  young  woman,  who  was  leaning  against 
the  wall,  and  so  sad  was  her  face,  so  dejected  her  whole 
attitude,  that  I  whispered  to  her : 

"  What  ails  thee  ?  " 

With  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion  she  replied, 
"  I  have  lost  the  slip  of  paper  on  which  were  written 
the  names  of  those  I  wished  to  be  prayed  for.  I  cannot 
write  myself,  so  now  I  have  come  all  this  way  in  vain, 
and  that  is  what  grieves  me  so." 

I  volunteered  to  write  out  a  fresh  list  for  her,  and 
having  borrowed  a  pencil  from  a  Cossack  who  stood 
close  by,  and  a  slip  of  paper  from  another  man,  I 
wrote  at  her  dictation. 

"  Poor,  unhappy  Maria — that  is  myself,"  she  said 
in  explanation — "  I  am  nearly  blind,  and  the  doctors 
can  do  nothing  for  me,  so  I  have  come  to  pray  to  Saint 
Sergei,  perhaps  he  will  restore  my  sight."  Then  she 
went  on,  "  And  now,  Barinka,  write,  Ivan  and  Olga, 
and  Feodor  and  Irene,  Matriona,  Akoulina,  Peter — 
I  think  that  will  do,"  she  said,  heaving  a  sigh  of 
contentment. 

Her  face  all  radiant  with  hope,  she  took  the  slip  of 
paper  to  the  priest  who  collected  all  the  slips  with 
the  names  of  those  to  be  mentioned  in  prayer — no 
light  task  was  his. 

What  we  had  been  unable  to  do  owing  to  the  crush 
the  evening  before,  we  now  managed  quite  easily, 
and  soon  found  ourselves  close  up  to  the  costly  tomb 
of  the  humble  St.  Sergei.  His  relics  have  been 
approached  with  awe  and  reverence  by  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  pilgrims  ;  nobleman  and  moujik,  Grand 
Duchess   and   peasant   woman,   have   bent   over   and 


VISIT  TO  TROITSA-SERGEI   LAVRA.  53 

kissed  what  the  devout  beUeve  to  be  his  uncorruptible 
body. 

For  a  long  time  I  stood  watching  with  deep  sym- 
pathy the  apparently  endless  procession  of  men  and 
wom.en  as  they  came  to  do  homage  to  the  Saint.  I 
saw  women  hand  their  infants  to  the  priests  on  duty, 
who  lifted  them  up  in  order  to  let  the  children  kiss  the 
relics  of  the  Saint. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  rather  intermittent  chanting 
of  a  few  monks,  the  impression  I  received  would  have 
been  that  of  perfect  silence,  in  spite,  too,  of  the  sound 
of  the  heavy  tread  of  feet  on  the  stone  floor.  I  think 
this  aural  illusion  of  silence  was  due  to  the  over- 
powering impression  of  solemnity  ;  all  that  could  jar 
was  excluded.  We  left  the  church,  having  witnessed 
what  has  been  an  ordinary  occurrence  for  hundreds  of 
years. 

In  every  one  of  the  several  churches  within  the 
monastic  grounds  services  were  being  held.  We 
visited  some  of  them,  and  everywhere  found  a  crowd 
of  devout  worshippers. 

At  seven  o'clock  we  went  to  the  little  ikon  shop, 
and  the  same  monk  who  had  served  us  the  previous 
evening  placed  before  me  a  packet  of  cheap,  coloured 
prints  of  the  monastery,  illustrations  of  historic  events, 
such  as  the  siege  of  the  Poles  in  1608,  and  scenes  from 
the  life  of  the  Saint. 

"  This  is  by  special  favour  ;  they  are  for  you  only," 
he  remarked.  "  I  received  orders  to  show  you  all 
I  have." 

Evidently  my  guide,  the  librarian,  had  said  a  kind 
word  for  me. 

My  sister  and  I  talked  with  the  brother  about  Saint 


54  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

Sergei,  his  wonderful  life  and  goodness,  and  the 
monk  expressed  great  surprise  and  joy  at  finding  some- 
one from  England  so  well  acquainted  with  that  good 
man's  life. 

"I  am  a  Russian,"  I  said,  "  although  I  am  now  a 
British  subject,  and  live  in  England,"  for  my  sister 
had  told  him  that  I  had  come  from  there. 

He  asked  some  very  intelligent  questions  about 
the  Church  of  England,  and  seemed  much  surprised 
that  the  invocation  of  the  saints  was  not  one  of  her 
practices. 

"  Not  that  we  do  not  consider  them  holy  men," 
I  assured  him. 

"  Yet  you  do  not  pray  to  them  ?  "  he  remarked  in 
a  tone  of  regret. 

"  We  consider  the  intercession  of  our  Lord  all- 
sufftcient,"  I  replied. 

He  looked  so  pleased  when  I  told  him  that  we  had 
much  in  common  in  our  form  of  service,  and  he  was 
specially  gratified  to  know  that  we  used  a  Collect  by 
St.  Chrysostom,  for  "  Ivan  Bogoslov,"  as  this  great 
divine  is  called  in  Russian,  is  the  best  known  of  all 
the  Church  Fathers. 

Putting  his  hand  behind  him  into  the  case  of  ikons, 
the  brother  suddenly  said  to  me  in  a  very  gentle  and 
deferential  manner : 

"  May  I  ask  you  the  name  of  your  angel  ?  " 

"  Sofia,"  I  replied. 

Then  quickly  withdrawing  his  hand  from  the  case, 
he  handed  me  a  beautiful  ikon  of  St.  Sophia,  with 
her  three  traditional  daughters,  Faith,  Hope  and 
Charity. 

"  Will  you  take  this  ?  "  he  asked  me. 


VISIT  TO  TROITSA-SERGEI    LAVRA.  55 

I  felt  deeply  touched  by  his  kindly  thought,  for 
evidently  he  had  heard  my  sister  call  me  "  Sonia," 
the  diminutive  of  Sophia,  and  had  planned  this  little 
surprise.  I  paid  him  for  the  ikon,  but  accepted  his 
gift  of  a  narrow,  blue  ribbon,  into  which  were  woven 
the  words  of  the  91st  Psalm. 

"  This  girdle,"  he  explained,  "  our  soldiers  wear 
around  their  body  when  they  go  into  battle.  Wives, 
sweethearts,  mothers,  give  them  these  tokens,  en- 
trusting them  thereby  to  the  protection  of  God." 

Surely  a  nobler  chann  than  a  mascot,  I  thought  to 
myself. 

Before  leaving,  we  asked  the  monk  whether  he 
had  already  passed  into  the  higher  grade  of  monk- 
hood. 

"  No,"  he  said  sadly,  "  nor  do  I  think  that  I  ever 
shall.    I  am  only  fit  to  sell  in  this  shop." 

Then  looking  at  me  with  a  wonderfully  humble 
expression,  he  added,  "  I  am  a  great  sinner." 

"  And  so  am  I,  but  we  both  have  a  Saviour  Who 
died  for  us,"  I  said,  stretching  out  my  hand  to  him, 
which  he  grasped  with  a  look  of  joy  in  his  eyes. 

I  think  his  humble  soul  rejoiced  at  this  bond  of 
union  between  us. 

"  I  win  always  remember  you  in  prayer,"  were 
his  last  words  to  us. 

We  passed  out  of  the  gates,  and  immediately  found 
ourselves  in  a  different  world — the  sacred  and 
ecclesiastical  was  suddenly  exchanged  for  the  mundane 
and  secular.  The  little  shops  which  seemed  plastered 
to  the  walls  of  the  monastery,  were  all  open,  and  the 
big  market-place  was  crowded.  Buying  and  selling 
were  in  full  swing  ;  peasants  from  the  outlying  villages 


56  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

had  brought  their  wares,  and  by  arranging  them 
selves  face  to  face  in  two  long  rows,  they  formed  two 
passages,  along  which  the  buyers  were  moving.  Many 
of  the  peasant  women  were  sitting  on  the  ground  beside 
their  baskets  of  eggs,  vegetables  and  fruit,  which  were 
set  out  in  tempting  display  for  pilgrims  and  citizens 
alike,  for  although  we  never  saw  anything  of  the  actual 
town,  we  were  told  that  a  populous  city  has  in  course 
of  time  grown  up  around  this  monastery. 

To  my  Russian  heart  the  food  exhibited  for  sale  was 
just  beautiful.  I  am  afraid,  however,  my  English 
friends  would  have  turned  away  with  disapproval 
from  the  baskets  of  brown,  red  and  yellow  toadstools. 
There  was  also  baked  milk  for  sale  in  long,  narrow 
earthenware  jars,  and  "  tvorog,"  made  from  sour 
milk,  and  thick  sour  cream,  which,  eaten  together, 
taste  delicious.  We  walked  slowly  through  the 
market,  bought  an  earthenware  bowl,  had  it  filled 
with  tvorog,  and  some  sour  cream  poured  over  it. 

Close  to  the  hostel  stood  many  carts :  some  full  of 
hay,  others  laden  with  sacks  of  corn  and  oats.  We 
talked  to  the  peasants  in  charge,  who  told  us  that 
this  market  was  held  seven  days  a  week  in  the  early 
morning. 

Pigeons  were  fluttering  all  around  us,  attracted  by 
the  seed  which  lay  scattered  on  the  ground,  but  the 
bolder  sparrows  were  helping  themselves  out  of  the 
sacks.    This  I  pointed  out  to  one  of  the  men. 

"  Wliy  should  they  not  ?  "  he  remaiked  ;  "God  has 
created  them  also." 

We  made  our  breakfast  of  the  delicacies  we  had 
bought,  and  as  we  had  no  soft  sugar,  we  poured  some 
boiling  water  on  some  lump  sugar,  and  found  that  this 


A   LINK.  57 

syrup  did  excellent  service.  Having  packed  our 
holdalls,  we  paid  a  very  modest  sum  for  our  night's 
lodging,  and  took  our  departure  with  genuine  regret. 

"  I  know  now  where  I  shall  go  in  future  when  I  want 
to  spend  a  really  restful  time,"  I  remarked. 

As  we  drove  away  I  cast  a  last  glance  at  the  old- 
world  market-place,  the  high  massive  wall,  and  the 
monastery,  with  its  domes  of  glowing  colours  and  its 
high  graceful  belfry. 

As  we  neared  the  station,  we  met  crowds  of  pilgrims 
who  had  just  arrived  by  train,  and  thus  in  endless 
succession,  the  bogomoltsi  and  bogomolki — "  Pray  to 
God  people  "  as  pilgrims  are  called  in  Russia — come 
to  the  Troitsa-Sergei  Lavra  to  pray  at  the  tomb  of 
Saint  Sergei. 


CHAPTER    Xn. 

A   Link. 

On  my  arrival  in  Petrograd  I  rang  up  on  the  telephone 
to  enquire  as  to  when  Count  Olsoufiev  was  expected 
from  England. 

"  He  arrived  last  night,"  the  servant  replied,  "  and 
he  wants  to  see  you  immediately." 

Leaving  my  luggage  at  the  station,  I  drove  to  his 
house,  where  I  found  the  Count  in  his  study  surrounded 
by  half-packed  suit-cases  and  trunks,  table  and  chairs 


58  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

littered  with  letters  ;  he  was  looking  at  his  accumulated 
correspondence.  We  discussed  plans  and  decided  that 
I  was  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  Empress  Dowager 
from  Kiev,  as  she  was  expected  in  a  few  days,  but 
should  she  after  all  not  arrive  by  a  certain  date  then 
I  was  to  crave  permission  to  go  to  her  to  Kiev. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,"  the  Count  replied  smiling,  "  no  one  may 
approach  their  Majesties  without  being  invited.  You 
will  have  to  go  by  yourself,"  he  added. 

The  Count  promised  to  see  the  Minister  of  Justice 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  I  was  to  ring  him  up  in  a  few 
days  to  find  out  what  he  had  been  able  to  arrange, 
and  meanwhile  I  was  free  to  visit  friends  in  the  country. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

Speed  and  Success. 

In  Russia  things  are  done  either  very  slowly  or 
exceedingly  quickly,  and  when  I  rang  up  on  the  ap- 
pointed day  to  receive  my  marching  orders  from  the 
Count,  I  was  told  that  the  Minister  of  Justice  was 
expecting  me  that  very  day,  and  would  I  please  be  at 
the  Count's  at  i  o'clock. 

Here  was  a  dilemm.a  !  It  was  about  11.45  and  the 
next  train  was  due  a  few  minutes  after  twelve.  I 
was  in  a  place  some  forty-five  minutes'  journey  from 
town,  and  into  the  bargain  my  friend's  house  was  a 
good  distance  from  the  station  ;  also  her  coachman 


SPEED  AND   SUCCESS.  59 

was  not  at  home.     Still,  I  had  to  catch  the  train  at  all 
costs. 

"  I  must  catch  the  next  train  because  I  have  to 
appear  before  a  Cabinet  Minister.  Would  it  be  possible 
for  me  to  be  driven  to  the  station  in  that  little  cart  ?  " 
I  said  pleadingly  to  the  clerk  in  the  Estate  Office  where 
I  was  telephoning,  pointing  to  a  small  vehicle  just  out- 
side the  door. 

"  No,  that  is  not    possible,"    he   replied  ;    "  for   it 
belongs  to  the  forester  and  he  is  not  here  at  present." 
"  Well,   then,   could  you   lend  me  a  vehicle  ?  "    I 
persisted. 

"  Gladly,  if  we  had  a  horse,  but  we  have  none." 
"  But  my  friend  has  horses,"  I  said,  "  so  will  you 
lend  me  a  man  ?  " 

"  That  we  can  do.  I  will  send  one  at  once,"  the 
clerk  replied,  and  I  felt  relieved. 

Returning  breathlessly  to  my  friend's  house  I  in- 
formed her  that  I  had  to  be  off  at  once,  and  to  my  joy 
she  gave  me  the  comforting  information  that  her 
coachman  had  unexpectedly  turned  up. 

With  lightning  speed  the  horse  was  harnessed  while 
I  quickly  packed  my  things,  and  off  we  went  as  though 
on  a  race — I  was  in  time. 

I  felt  happy  and  grateful  to  be  safely  in  the  train, 
for  it  would  have  been  most  awkward  not  to  be  in  time 
for  the  first  interview  with  the  man  in  whose  hands 
the  fate  of  the  exiles  lay. 

"  We  are  lucky  to  have  caught  the  train,"  a  fellow 
traveller  remarked  to  me,  "  for  the  express  train  due 
at  this  time  has  been  delayed  at  the  frontier,  an^ 
this  is  an  extra  train." 

In  Petrograd  I  jumped  into  a  taxi,  but  was  compelled 


6o  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

by  circumstances  to  pay  an  exorbitant  sum  for  a  short 
drive,  the  chauffeur,  however,  promising  to  cover  the 
distance  in  five  minutes.  This  he  did,  for  we  drove  at 
break-neck  speed. 

At  the  stroke  of  one  I  entered  the  Count's  study. 

He  looked  very  serious  and  greeted  me  with  the 
damping  words  : 

"  Your  affairs  are  not  going  well." 

"  Our  affairs,"  I  corrected  him. 

"  Well,  all  right,  our  affairs,"  he  replied.  "  I  have 
had  a  talk  with  Mr.  Khvostoff  and  he  declares  that  it 
is  quite  impossible  to  grant  a  general  amnesty.  I 
assured  him  that  you  had  no  intention  of  asking  the 
impossible  ;  then  he  made  the  excuse  that  he  did  not 
speak  English,  but  I  informed  him  that  you  spoke 
Russian.  In  fact,  he  is  not  at  all  anxious  to  receive 
you,  but  finally  I  persuaded  him  to  grant  you  an  inter- 
view. He  expects  you  at  one-thirty.  Now — let  me 
tell  you  what  I  think  you  should  say  to  him,"  And 
the  kind  Count  gave  me  minute  directions. 

I  believe  he  thought  that  after  all  a  man  might 
know  better  than  a  woman  how  to  tackle  such  a  delicate 
subject  as  putting  the  desirability  of  an  "  amnesty  " 
before  a  Minister. 

"  You  are  taking  it  all  in  ?  "  he  asked  me,  suddenly 
interrupting  his  carefully-thought-out  speech. 

"  Yes,  I  am  all  attention,"  I  replied.  "  Please  go 
on." 

I  admired  the  Count  for  the  trouble  he  was  taking, 
for  he  is  not  naturally  a  very  energetic  man.  I  knew 
quite  well  that  what  he  was  now  doing  was  for  him 
an  exceedingly  unusual  thing,  and  I  felt  all  the  more 
grateful  to  him  for  taking  up  the  matter  so  thoroughly. 


SPEED  AND  SUCCESS.  6i 

"  By  the  way,"  the  Count  remarked,  "  I  am  some- 
what disappointed  with  the  letters  you  have  brought 
from  England"  (I  had  left  them  with  him).  "  I  ex- 
pected a  much  more  definite  expression  of  opinion, 
and  all  your  correspondents  write  so  guardedly." 

"  You  do  not  know  the  English  as  I  do,"  I  replied, 
"  for  then  you  would  realise  how  very  strongly  worded 
these  letters  really  are  for  Englishmen,  who  are  usually 
so  very  reserved." 

"  Then  there  is  one  letter  which  has  rather  too  many 
criticisms  of  the  Government." 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said,  "  it  is  very  justified  criticism 
and  perhaps  it  may  have  some  effect." 

"  Come  back  to  me  after  you  have  been  to  the 
Minister  and  tell  me  all  about  it,"  were  his  parting 
words. 

I  must  admit  that  I  felt  rather  nervous  as  I  drove 
along.  It  was  a  tremendous  responsibility  which 
was  entrusted  to  me. 

However,  I  took  courage  at  the  remembrance  of 
Nehemiah's  experience,  who,  when  asked  by  the  King 
"  for  what  dost  thou  make  request  ?  "  prayed  to  the 
God  of  Heaven  and  said.  .  .  . 


62  REAL   RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Interviews  with  Cabinet  Ministers. 

From  behind  a  massive  writing-table  the  Minister 
stepped  forward  to  greet  me. 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  receiving  me,"  I 
said,  but  before  I  could  proceed  any  fmther  he  curtly 
interrupted  me  with  the  words  : 

"  A  general  amnesty  is  impossible." 

"  Your  Excellency,"  I  replied,  calmly,  "  I  have 
not  come  to  ask  for  the  impossible,  but  in  England 
they  are  very  much  interested  in  the  fate  of  the 
exiles,  and  if  you  could  see  your  way  to  release  a 
number  of  them  it  would  give  great  joy  to  the 
British  people." 

"  I  can  assure  370U  that  His  Majesty  is  constantly 
liberating  twenty  to  forty  prisoners  at  a  time,"  he 
retorted. 

"  Then  why  does  he  not  let  the  world  know  about 
it  ?  "   I  asked. 

"  Because  he  likes  to  follow  out  the  precepts  of  the 
Gospel  and  not  to  proclaim  his  good  deeds." 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  replied,  "  the  Gospel  also  says, 
'  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men,'  and  surely  it 
would  make  people  rejoice  to  know  of  these  acts  of 
clemency." 

The  Minister  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  No,  it 
is  quite  impossible  to  grant  an  amnesty,"  he  said 
very    emphatically.       "  At    present    the    people     are 


INTERVIEWS  WITH  CABINET  MINISTERS.     63 

without  leaders,  but  let  these  men  return  from  exile  or 
imprisonment  and  the  masses  will  rally  round  them." 

I  smiled  inwardly,  yet  I  saw  that  from  his  point  of 
view  there  might  be  a  certain  amount  of  reason  in  his 
fears  and  therefore  merely  said  : 

"  At  least  you  need  not  let  the  exiles  starve,  for 
those  sent  out  by  administrative  order  have  an 
absolutely  insufficient  allowance." 

"  The  administrative  exiles  do  not  come  under  my 
jurisdiction,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  They  belong  to  the 
Department  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  so  it  is  to 
him  you  must  speak  about  them." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  ;  "  but  will  you  kindly  enable  me 
to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  with  pleasure.  I  will  give  you  my  card," 
and  after  writing  a  few  lines  of  introduction,  he  handed 
it  to  me. 

The  audience  was  over.  I  felt  very  disappointed, 
for  if  the  Minister  of  Justice  was  so  uncompromisingly 
opposed  to  an  amnesty  what  had  I  still  to  hope  for  ? 
However,  though  disappointed,  I  was  not  disheartened. 

My  next  interview  took  place  in  much  pleasanter 
surroundings,  namely,  in  the  private  study  of  a  true 
lover  of  art,  one  of  the  assistant  Ministers*  of  the 
Premier. 

This  gentleman  received  me  in  a  most  friendly  way. 
"  But  you  know  I  have  really  nothing  to  do  with  exiles," 
he  remarked,  "  only  my  friend  wanted  me  to  see  you, 
and  of  course  I  am  delighted  to  do  so.  So  you  have 
been  to  Khvostoff — well,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

♦Tovarishtch-Ministera  (comrade  of  the  Minister)  is  the  title 
of  the  officials  in  charge  cf  the  various  Departments  of  the  Ministry 
• — such  £13  the  Police,  the  Zemstvos,  etc. 


64  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

I  related  my  experiences,  and  he,  shaking  his  head, 
said  regretfully,  "  What  a  pity  that  you  let  yourself 
be  passed  on  to  Stepanoff.  It  was  a  clever  dodge  of 
Khvostofi's  to  shift  the  responsibility  on  to  him." 

We  had  a  long  talk  and  I  told  him  all  I  hoped  to 
achieve. 

"  You  must  see  Stuermer,"  he  said  in  his  impetuous 
way,  "  and  you  should  also  see  the  Empress." 

"  I  am  willing  to  see  any  and  everybody — with  the 
exception  of  Rasputin,"  I  replied. 

"  But,  my  dear  lady,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly, 
' '  why  not  him  ?  He  is  so  influential ;  but  please  do 
not  think  that  he  makes  or  unmakes  ministers.  All 
he  does  is  to  make  hall  porters  for  a  consideration  of 
25  Roubles." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  I  said,  "  no  Rasputin  for  me  ! 
I  wish  to  use  clean  means  only." 

He  laughed — "  If  you  were  drowning  and  a  plank 
were  thrown  to  you,  you  would  not  enquire  whether 
it  were  clean  or  not,  and  just  now  you  are  trying  to  save 
those  who  are  drowning." 

My  persistent  refusal  to  see  Rasputin  highly  amused 
my  host. 

"  Surely  you  will  not  leave  Petrograd  without  seeing 
him — it  is  like  going  to  Rome  and  not  seeing  the  Pope  ! 
Still,  if  you  do  persist  in  your  conscientious  scruples, 
at  least  go  and  see  him  when  your  business  is  done." 

I  shook  my  head. 

Meanwhile  Count  Olsouficv  had  arranged  an  inter- 
view for  me  with  the  Premier,  Mr.  Stuermer,  who 
resided  at  the  Home  Office  on  the  Fontanka.  The 
Count  and  I  were  shown  into  a  long  narrow  waiting- 
room.      The  forty  minutes   I   had  to  wait  gave  me 


INTERVIEWS   WITH   CABINET   MINISTERS.     65 

sufficient  time  to  study  the  engravings  on  the  walls, 
representing  all  the  Ministers  of  the  Interior  since  the 
days  of  Alexander  I.  The  first  of  them,  Count  Valoueff, 
reminded  me  very  much  in  appearance  of  the  seventh 
Earl  of  Shaftesbury.  There  were  also  very  large 
portraits  in  oils  of  aggressively  martial  looking 
gentlemen,  who  were  not  at  all  suggestive  of  Cabinet 
Ministers. 

I  asked  one  of  the  officials  who  these  Generals  were. 

"  The  Chiefs  of  the  Gendarmerie,"  he  replied. 

So  these  were  the  Heads  of  the  dreaded  Third  Divi- 
sion— the  Secret  Police — instituted  by  Nicholas  I.  to 
safeguard  his  Empire  against  reforms  and  other 
"  dangers  "  ! 

At  last  it  was  my  turn  to  go  into  the  Premier's 
study.*  A  tall,  benevolent-looking  man,  rather  like 
a  successful  merchant  in  appearance,  cordially  inxited 
me  to  tell  him  my  story.  He  thanked  me  for  having 
taken  up  the  case  of  the  returned  prisoners  of  war, 
and  then  listened  with  evident  interest  to  all  I  had  to 
tell  him  of  British  feeling  (as  it  had  come  to  my 
personal  notice)  with  regard  to  an  amnesty,  and  of  the 
effect  the  release  of  exiles  would  have  on  British 
public  opinion. 

Then  I  spoke  of  the  terrible  plight  of  the  exiles. 
He  was  surprised  to  find  me  so  well  informed,  and 
asked  me  how  it  came  about.  I  told  him  about  our 
Committee  in  England  and  how  I  had  founded  it  in 
response  to  the  appeal  of  an  Englishman,  living  in 
Russia,  who  had  witnessed  the  sore  distress  of  these 
exiles.     I  told  the  Premier  that  I  had  not  come  to 

*Mr.  Stuermer  was  imprisoned  at  once  after  the  outbreak  of  fixe 
Revolution. 


66  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

plead  for  men  who  had  broken  laws  common  to  all 
civilised  nations,  but  ior  those  whose  political  opinions 
and  activities  were  opposed  to  Russian  official  ideas 
only. 

I  now  related  to  the  Premier  that  our  "  non-political  " 
Committee  consisted  of  members  holding  widely  differ- 
ing views  on  most  questions,  and  that  even  strong 
Conservatives  had  joined  because  they  had  such  sym- 
pathy with  the  exiles  and  were  so  opposed  to  the 
system.  It  was  at  this  point  that  I  told  Mr,  Stuermer 
that  I  myself  was  not  a  revolutionary,  but  decidedly 
a  Liberal.  "It  is  since  I  left  Russia  that  I  have 
learnt  to  think  politically,"  I  said,  "  for  in  England 
I  came  to  realise  what  other  people  consider  necessary 
for  civic  life.  Only  during  the  last  ten  years  have  I 
come  into  contact  with  Radical  Russians.  In  fact, 
I  know  personally  very  few  revolutionaries,  but," 
I  added,  "  I  do  know  and  love  Prince  Peter  Kropotkin. 
I  consider  him  one  of  the  best  men  and  the  greatest 
idealist  I  have  ever  met." 

Having  made  my  point  of  view  quite  clear  and 
having  no  apprehensions  of  being  misunderstood, 
I   spoke  up  : 

"  People  who,  in  other  countries,  would  be  con- 
sidered law-abiding  and  useful  citizens,  you  not  only 
banish,  but  let  starve  into  the  bargain,"  and  I  gave 
him  instances. 

"  I  do  know  that  their  allowances  are  insufficient," 
the  Premier  replied,  "  and,  in  fact,  I  have  only  just 
now  been  asked  by  the  Governor-General  of  Siberia 
to  increase  them." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  set  them  all  free  ?  " 
J  said.     "  It  would  be  so  much  simpler  and  cheaper." 


INTERVIEWS  WITH  CABINET  MINISTERS.     67 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  expense,"  he  said  in  an 
off-handed  way. 

Then  I  told  him  what  Mr.  Khvostoff  had  said  about 
the  absence  of  leaders,  and  added  :  "  Nevertheless, 
you  will  have  a  Revolution,  not  stirred  up  by  regular 
Revolutionists,  but  by  the  people  themselves.  The 
storm  is  brewing." 

"  WTiat  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  he  asked  with 
evident  interest. 

I  gave  him  my  reasons  :  the  growing  discontent 
owing  to  the  rise  of  prices,  the  hatred  against  specula- 
tors, etc.,  etc.,  and  also  the  threats  which,  to  my  sur- 
prise, were  now  openly  uttered.  Never  before,  I 
warned  him,  had  I  heard  such  plain  speaking  wherever 
I  went.* 

The  Premier  looked  thoughtful  and  admitted  the 
possibility  of  an  outbreak.  "  We  shall  have  to  pre- 
pare for  it,"  were  his  words. 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  remove  the  causes 
of  the  discontent  ?  "  I  asked. 

Mr.  Stuermer  then  wanted  to  know  what  the 
Minister  of  Justice  had  said.  This  gave  me  an 
excellent  chance  to  plead  the  cause  so  near  my 
heart.  I  ended  up  by  saying :  "  An  amnesty 
would  be  like  a  rainbow  against  a  dark  sky. 
There    is    so     much    sorrow     and    suffering    in    the 

*As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  been  told  by  friends,  who  had  not 
hitherto  held  Liberal  views,  that  there  were  no  revolutionists  now, 
for  "  we  are  all  revolutionists." 

Again,  other  friends  prophesied  :  "  Revolution  is  sure  to  come 
v/hen  the  war  is  over,  and  there  will  be  barricades,  with  the  whole 
nation  on  the  one  side  and  the  Palace  on  the  other."  I  had  also 
frequently  heard  the  common  people  say  :  "At  present  we  are  keep- 
ing quiet,  but  once  the  war  is  over  we  shall  move,  and  we  shall  begin 
with  those  in  high  positions." 


68  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

world,    will    you    not    be    the    means    of    bringing 
goodwill  and  joy  ?  " 

"  Those  sentiments  are  quite  in  accord  with  the 
mind  of  His  Majesty,"  he  answered. 

"  You  have  power,"   I  said — "  use  it   for  good." 

"  I  have  only  as  much  power  as  His  Majesty  chooses 
to  give,"   was  his  politic  reply. 

"  All  the  more  reason  to  use  it  well.  If  His  Majesty 
has  limited  his  power  in  order  to  let  you,  his  Minister, 
share  it,  the  responsibility  lies  with  you." 

He  was  most  sympathetic  all  through,  and  as  I 
was  not  distracted  by  fear  or  self-consciousness,  I  was 
able  to  speak  quite  freely. 

"  Why  make  everything  a  crime  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I 
have  seen  in  Westminster  Abbey  the  tombs  of  certain 
people  who,  had  they  lived  in  Russia,  would  in  all 
probability  have  been  exiled  to  Siberia." 

I  spoke  to  him  of  the  lack  of  safety-valves  in  Russian 
civic  life,  and  pointed  out  that  Revolutionists  were  the 
product  and  not  the  cause  of  political  troubles  and 
difficulties.  I  then  related  an  experience  I  had  had 
with  two  young  girls  whom  I  had  met  in  Paris.  Both 
had  been  condemned  to  death,  but  both  had  managed 
to  escape.  One  of  these  girls  had  written  down  her 
story  for  my  benefit,  as  I  was  anxious  to  know  what 
had  led  her  to  become  a  Revolutionist.  "  Could 
you  let  me  read  it  ?  "  Mr.  Stuermer  asked,  "  it  would 
interest  me  greatly."  "  With  pleasure,"  I  said,  rejoic- 
ing inwardly  that  he  should  for  once  read  about  the 
misdeeds  of  his  underlings. 

It  was  I  who  rose  when  I  felt  that  I  had  said  my  say 
The   Premier  accompanied  me   back  to  the  waiting 


AN   INTERESTING   HOUR.  69 

room  and  expressed  a  wish  to  see  me  again  on  my 
return  from  the  South, 

The  Count,  who  was  acting  the  part  of  fairy-god- 
father to  me,  and  whose  magic  wand  opened  every 
door — so  that  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  walk  in  and 
shake  hands  with  the  Ministers — asked  me  whether 
I  was  satisfied  with  my  interview. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  had 
the  opportunity  of  speaking  so  plainly  and  so  un- 
interruptedly to  one  in  power." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

An  Interesting  Hour. 

The  Count  had  asked  me  to  wait  for  him  in  his  house 
while  he  continued  his  talk  with  the  Premier,  to 
whom  he  was  relating  his  experiences  in  the  Allied 
countries. 

I  knew  he  was  due  to  leave  Petrograd  that  evening 
for  Moscow  soon  after  9  o'clock,  and  I  wondered  how 
he  was  going  to  manage  to  speak  to  all  the  various 
people  who  were  awaiting  him  in  the  house,  for  in 
every  room  there  was  somebody.  Nevertheless,  he 
managed  it — then  came  my  turn. 

"Will  you  dine  with  me  and  two  friends  ?  "  he  said 
genially. 

I  accepted  the  invitation  with  pleasure,  although 
I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  as  to  who  his  friends  were. 
A  pleasant  surprise  awaited  me.    "  They  know  all  about 


70 


REAL   RUSSIANS. 


you,"  the  Count  added,  introducing  me  to  two 
thoughtful-looking  men — Mr.  Gouchkoff*,  the  leader 
of  the  Octobrist  Party,  and  Mr.  Vladimir  Lvofff. 

We  five  drove  in  Mr.  Gouchkoff's  motor  to  a  well- 
known  restaurant.  It  was  the  first  meeting  between 
the  Count  and  his  friends  since  his  return  from  his 
journey,  and  the  two  Duma  members  wanted  to  hear 
all  the  Count  had  seen  and  heard.  It  was  intensely 
interesting  for  me  to  listen  to  the  discussion  of  the 
situation,  and  to  hear  what  the  Count  had  to  tell. 
I  listened  to  his  graphic  descriptions  of  his  impressions, 
and  to  the  conversations  he  had  held  with  statesmen. 
He  was  quite  enthusiastic,  and  I  realised  how  useful 
this  journey  had  been.  I  longed  that  the  practical 
advice  which  a  leading  statesman  in  France  urged 
as  a  necessity  for  victory,  might  be  followed  out  at 
once.  I  realised  that  although  the  public  of  France 
and  England  may  be  ignorant  of  affairs,  conditions 
and  needs  of  Russia,  not  so  the  leaders,  and  I  felt 
grateful  to  know  that  Russia  had  such  true  friends  in 
these  men. 

The  two  Duma  members  listened  with  thoughtful 
mien.  Now  and  then  they  had  to  bring  the  Count 
back  to  his  point  when  he  strayed  from  the  political 
subject  into  byways  of  less  serious  matter. 

There  was  so  much  to  tell,  and  time  was  all  too 
short,  for  there  was  the  train  to  catch.  Mr.  Gouchkoff 
lent  his  motor  to  take  the  Count  to  the  station.  En 
route  we  passed  his  house  on  the  chance  of  picking  up 
his  luggage.  Still,  he  was  quite  ready  to  start  without 
it,  having  his  sleeping-car  ticket  in  his  pocket. 

♦Minister  of  War  in  the  first  Provisional  Government. 
I  Head   of   the    Holy   Synod. 


AN   INTERESTING   HOUR.  71 

As  we  drove  to  the  door,  the  housekeeper  rushed 
out  in  evident  despair  :  "  This  is  how  our  Count  always 
acts,"  she  exclaimed  excitedly.  "  He  leaves  every- 
thing to  the  last  moment." 

It  appeared,  however,  that  the  train  was  due  to  start 
twenty  minutes  later  than  the  Count  had  thought, 
and  this  was  lucky,  for  otherwise  he  would  have  missed 
it.  The  servants  bundled  his  suit-cases  into  the  motor, 
put  a  half-filled  Gladstone  bag  on  my  lap,  and  then 
handed  me  odd  articles  which  they  brought  out, 
one  at  a  time,  for  me  to  squeeze  in  as  best  I  could. 

"  Do  see  that  the  Count  leaves  nothing  behind  !  " 
the  housekeeper  called  out  after  me  as  we  started  off. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  Count,  "  you  had  better 
go  and  see  your  Ambassador.  I  lunched  with  him 
yesterday,  and  meant  to  tell  him  about  your  enter- 
prise, and  then  after  all  I  forgot  to  do  so.  You  see, 
before  leaving  England  I  told  the  Russian  Ambassador 
about  you  ;  he  fully  sympathises  with  the  object  of 
your  journey,  so  now  I  think  Sir  George  might  as  well 
also  know  about  it." 

The  Count  caught  the  train  just  in  the  nick  of  time, 
and  I  drove  back  in  the  motor  to  the  Town  Duma, 
where  Mr.  Gouchkoff  was  awaiting  it. 

Some  time  previously  I  had  been  told  on  the 
telephone  by  a  lady  that  I  should  go  and  see  Lady 
Georgina.  "  Why  should  I  ?  I  do  not  know  her," 
was  my  reply. 

"  She  wants  to  know  you,  for  I  have  told  her  about 
your  experiences  with  the  escaped  prisoners  of  war." 
"  I  don't  think  I  shall  go  and  see  her,"  I  said,  "  for 
if  she  asks  me  about  the  object  of  my  visit  to  Petrograd 
I  shall  not  know  what  to  answer." 


72  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

Count  Olsoufiev's  request,  however,  had  altered  the 
circumstances,  and  having  introduced  myself  by  tele- 
phone to  Lady  Georgina,  I  was  very  kindly  invited  to 
come  to  the  Embassy. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  meet  Great  Britain's 
official  representative  and  his  charming  wife,  and  in 
both  of  them  I  found  people  who  really  loved  and  under- 
stood Russia,  How  good  for  Russia  to  have  such  a 
British  Ambassador  at  this  critical  time,  I  thought. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Something,  but  not  Everything,  had  been  done. 

The  same  two  men — non-commissioned  officers — who 
had  called  upon  me  previously,  came  again  to  see  me. 

"  Everything  has  been  done  as  you  suggested," 
they  said.  "  There  has  been  an  enquiry,  and  all  the 
men  who  arrived  before  we  did  have  been  sent  home 
on  leave.  They  have  been  given  a  fiee  passage  on  the 
railway,  food,  money,  and  the  accumulated  pay  due 
to  them  have  been  paid  out." 

"  I  am  delighted,"  I  said ;  "  but  what  about  your- 
selves ;   how  is  it  you  are  still  here  ? 

''  Well,  Baryinia,  that  is  why  we  have  come  to  you 
again.  The  Commandant  says  that  he  has  no  money 
left  for  us,  and  that  we  will  therefore  have  to  pay  the 
fourth  part   of  our  fare,  and  shall   only  receive  one 


SOMETHING,   BUT  NOT  EVERYTHING.        73 

month's  pay,  at  the  pre-war  rate  of  50  kopecks  (is.  2|d.) 
a  month  instead  of  the  70  we  ought  to  be  getting — 
nor  shall  we  be  given  any  food  money.  They  haven't 
supplied  us  either  with  any  uniforms  or  underclothing. 
It  is  true  that  some  of  us  have  received  boots,  others 
caps,  and  a  few,  overcoats  ;  but  not  one  of  us  has 
been  given  a  complete  outfit,  therefore,  we  have  sold 
some  of  our  civilian  clothes,  and  even  our  precious 
wrist  watches,  so  as  to  buy  shirts  and  look  once  more 
like  soldiers,  and,  if  absolutely  necessary,  to  help 
towards  our  fare.  But,  Baryinia,  we  have  come  here 
to  ask  you  to  help  us  to  get  away  without  having  our 
fare  to  pay." 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  I  replied,  and  promised  to 
pay  them  another  visit  at  the  barracks. 

I  went  the  same  afternoon,  and  again  found  over 
five  hundred  men,  for  new  parties  had  just  arrived. 
It  was  heart-breaking  to  think  that  the  same  tragedy 
of  hopes  dashed  to  the  ground  was  being  enacted  so 
frequently. 

This  time,  too,  I  was  surrounded  by  irate,  indignant 
men,  and  the  words  they  uttered  and  the  criticism 
they  expressed,  if  overheard  by  an  officer,  might  easily 
have  led  to  punishment.  The  men,  however,  seemed 
too  bitter  to  care.  Once  again  I  promised  to  do  all 
I  could,  even  if  I  had  to  go  to  the  Emperor  himself. 
When  they  heard  this,  their  faces  lit  up  with  hope. 
They  believed  that  it  was  their  Sovereign's  will  to 
honour  them. 

"  We  are  heroes,"  one  soldier  remarked*,  and  indeed 

*This  is  not  so  conceited  as  it  sounds,  for  the  word  "  hero  " 
is  frequently  used  iu  folklore  as  well  as  in  popular  language  to 
signify  a  brave  man. 


74  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

they  were,  for  amongst  these  particular  five  hundred 
men  I  counted  up  fifty  who  had  been  decorated  with 
the  St.  George's  Cross. 

On  my  return  home  I  rang  up  the  same  influential 
man  who  had  helped  me  before,  but  he  had  left  Petro- 
grad.  "  Never  mind,"  I  thought,  "  I  have  other 
friends,  and  if  only  I  can  get  one  of  the  big  men  in 
authority  to  come  and  see  for  himself  how  matters 
stand,  all  will  be  well." 

The  very  next  day  I  was  able  to  tell  the  story  of 
the  stranded  men  to  one  of  the  chief  officials  of  the  Red 
Cross,  whom  I  had  come  to  interview  on  an  entirely 
different  matter. 

"  But  this  is  awful,"  was  his  comment ;  "it  must 
be  seen  into  at  once.  Will  you  go  and  see  the  Prince 
of  Oldenburg  ?  " 

"  Yes,  gladly,"  I  replied.  "  However,  I  also  want 
someone  to  come  with  me  now  at  once,  in  order  to  see 
how  these  men  are  lodged.  Could  you  not  come 
yourself  ?  " 

The  kindly  official  had,  however,  to  decline  my  in- 
vitation, for  the  very  good  reason  that  he  was  already 
overworked ;  but  he  promised  to  arrange  for  an 
interview  with  Prince  Alexander  of  Oldenburg,  the 
Commander  -  in  -  Chief  of  the  Service  Sanitaire  of 
Russia,  and  President  of  the  Red  Cross.  I  was  de- 
lighted. At  last  I  seemed  to  have  come  across  the  right 
man  to  help  me  in  the  matter  which  I  felt  to  be  so 
urgent. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  when  he  called  me 
back  and  said  :  "  Would  you  mind  going  into  the 
next  room  and  writing  a  report  on  all  you  have  told 
me  ?  " 


SOMETHING,   BUT  NOT  EVERYTHING.        75 

"  With  pleasure,"  I  replied,  but  with  a  sinking  heart, 
for  it  was  lunch  time  and  I  was  very  hungry.  Nearly 
everyone  in  that  busy  office  had  a  glass  of  tea  beside 
him.  Plucking  up  courage,  I  said  to  the  officer : 
"  Might  I  have  some  too  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered  with  a  smile,  and  a  few 
moments  later  an  orderly  brought  me  in  a  glass  of 
tea  and  some  sandwiches.  Refreshed  by  these  good 
things,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  my  report. 

About  half  an  hour  later,  another  official  came 
and  informed  me  that  with  regard  to  my  audience 
with  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg,  a  reply  would  be  given 
me  later  on  by  telephone,  as  his  Secretary  was  out 
at  the  moment.  I  was  also  handed  a  slip  of  paper 
bearing  the  name  of  General  Khabaloff,  Commander- 
in-Chief  of  the  Petrograd  District,  whom  I  was 
advised  to  go  and  see,  in  fact  he  was  holding  his 
weekly  official  reception  that  very  day.  "  Every- 
thing depends  upon  him,"  the  kindly  officer  told  me. 

I  drove  home  in  high  spirits,  my,  heart  full  of  hope 
and  gratitude  for  having  been  thus  led  on  to  the  right 
track.  In  the  evening  I  was  informed  by  telephone  that 
H.I.H.  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg  was  quite  willing  to 
receive  me,  but  that  owing  to  illness  he  could  not  see 
me  that  week,  but  would  I  ring  up  on  my  return  from 
Kiev. 


76  REAL   RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
A  Conscientious  Objector. 

One  afternoon  we  discussed  all  kinds  of  topics. 

"  Sestritza,"  said  one  of  the  soldiers,  a  gaunt, 
thoughtful-looking  man,  "  is  it  true  that  at  the  present 
moment  Baptists  and  the  followers  of  Tolstoi  are  being 
persecuted  ?  It  is  two  years  since  I  was  taken  captive, 
and  of  course,  I  do  not  know  whether  what  some  of 
the  men  have  told  me  is  true." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  it," 
I  replied. 

"  Sestritza,  can  you  tell  me  whether  the  Emperor 
of  Japan  is  married  ?  "  another  of  the  men  suddenly 
asked. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  really  do  not  know  ;  why  are 
you  so  interested  in  this  question  ?  " 

"  Well,  several  of  us  were  talking  together,  and 
some  said  that  Japan  had  become  Russia's  Ally 
because  the  Emperor  wants  to  marry  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  Tsar.  Now,  I  personally  believe 
that  the  Emperor  is  already  married,  but  I  wanted 
you  to  settle  this  point  for  us." 

Gradually  our  talk  turned  on  to  the  subject  of 
religion.  The  man  who  had  asked  me  about  the  per- 
secution of  the  Baptists  broke  into  the  conversation 
with  the  question  :  "  Are  not  Buddha  and  Confucius 
just  as  good  as  Christ  ?  " 


A  CONSCIENTIOUS    OBJECTOR.  ^^ 

"  I  will  answer  your  question  in  the  words  of  a  Chinese 
who,  at  different  times,  had  followed  both  these 
teachers,"  I  said  ;  then  I  told  him  the  most  poignant 
story  I  had  ever  heard  on  the  essential  difference 
between  these  founders  of  religion  and  Our  Lord. 
All  the  men  listened  with  keen  interest.  Then, 
turning  again  to  the  others,  I  continued  the  conversa- 
tion which  had  been  inteiTupted. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  thoughtful-looking 
man  once  more  put  a  question. 

"  But  what  if  a  man  does  not  believe  in  God  at 
all  ?  " 

"  That  man  is  very  poor,  however  rich  in  earthly 
goods  he  may  be,  and  I  pity  him  deeply,"  was  my 
reply. 

Evidently  my  interlocutor  was  a  thinking  man, 
and  one  whose  mind  was  not  at  rest.  I  decided  to  try 
and  have  a  private  chat  with  him.  The  opportunity 
for  this  came  quite  soon. 

When  we  were  alone  together,  I  asked  him  quite 
frankly  :  "  Are  you  a  Baptist  ?  " 

"  No,  Sestritza,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  have  occasionally 
attended  their  meetings,"  and  then,  looking  at  me 
steadily,  with  serious  questioning  eyes,  he  added  : 
"  1  want  to  ask  you  something.  Can  you  tell  me  how 
a  man  is  to  know  whether  he  has  the  Holy  Spirit  ?  " 

Thank  God,  this  question  I  was  able  to  answer. 

The  soldier  and  I  had  a  real  time  of  fellowship,  and 
several  of  the  things  which  had  perplexed  him  I  was 
able  to  explain, 

"  It  was  in  captivity  that  I  found  firm  ground  for 
my  feet  to  stand  on,"  he  said.  "  The  awful  wicked- 
ness of  the  Germans  which  I  witnessed,  and  the  terrible 


78  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

sufferings  amongst  the  prisoners  of  war,  made  me  turn 
to  God.  I  do  not  regret  what  I  have  gone  through, 
for  had  it  not  been  for  that,  I  would  not  have  known 
that  such  wickedness  or  such  suffering  existed ; 
and  I  might  have  remained  a  self-satisfied  and  careless 
man.  Now  I  have  but  one  desire,"  he  added,  his 
face  lit  up  with  holy  joy — "  to  do  good  and  serve 
my  fellow-men."  Then  suddenly  his  face  was  over- 
cast, and  his  eyes  assumed  a  puzzled  look.  "  I  am 
in  deep  perplexity,  and  I  do  not  know  what  to  do," 
he  said  gravely,  "  for  I  have  come  to  realise  that  I  can 
no  longer  go  and  kill  anyone,  but  that  from  henceforth 
I  must  only  do  good.  Now,  if  I  confess  myself  to  be 
a  disciple  of  Tolstoi,  which,  after  all,  I  am  not,  I  shall 
be  locked  up  in  prison  for  refusing  to  fight,  and  what 
good  am  I  to  anyone  if  I  am  behind  prison  walls  ?  " 

"  Ask  to  be  transferred  to  the  Red  Cross,"  I 
suggested,  full  of  sympathy  for  this  genuine  con- 
scientious objector. 

"  They  will  not  accept  me  for  that,  for  I  am  far  too 
strong  and  tall,"  he  said,  looking  down  ruefully  on  his 
magnificent  limbs. 

We  had  a  long  talk,  and  amongst  other  things, 
he  told  me  that  what  had  drawn  him  to  the  Russian 
Baptists  was  the  cleanliness  and  tidiness  of  their 
homes,  and  their  sober  and  upright  lives. 

"  Now,  what  makes  these  people  clean,  tidy  and  sober, 
and  what  prevents  them  from  ill-treating  or  beating 
their  wives,  I  said  to  myself  ;  they  are  Russians  just  the 
same  as  we  are — and  I  thought  of  my  many  friends, 
who  drank  too  much.  I  decided  to  see  for  myself.  So 
I  began  to  watch  the  Baptists,  and  then  I  discovered 
that  the  only  thing  in  their  lives  different  from  mine 


A  CONSCIENTIOUS   OBJFXTOR.  79 

was  their  faith.  I  attended  their  meetings — then  the 
war  broke  out,  and  captivity  followed.  You  are  the 
first  person  with  whom  I  have  spoken  about  these 
matters  for  the  last  two  years,"  he  added. 

"  What  about  your  comrades  in  the  prison  camp  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  They  did  not  seem  to  understand  or  care  for 
these  things." 

Before  parting  I  said  to  the  soldier,  "  I  will  see 
whether  I  can  put  in  a  word  for  you  at  the  right 
quarter,  and  perhaps  you  will,  after  all,  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  Red  Cross." 

"  That  would  indeed  be  good,"  he  replied,  hope 
shining  out  of  his  eyes. 

Before  parting,  the  big,  burly  soldier  knelt  down 
beside  me  and,  probably  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
offered  up  an  audible  prayer,  which  was  simple  and  to 
the  point. 

Evidently  he  was  deeply  perturbed  about  the  per- 
secution of  the  Russian  Sectarians,  for  he  was  already 
in  the  doorway  when  he  suddenly  turned  back  and, 
with  a  look  of  sorrow  and  a  voice  full  of  deep  concern, 
said  :  "  To  think  that  in  our  own  Russia  truth  is  being 
driven  out !  " 

As  it  happened,  only  two  days  later  I  met  an  in- 
fluential man  to  whom  I  related  this  soldier's 
dilemma.  "  Let  him  shoot  into  the  air  if  he  really 
objects  to  killing  anyone,"  was  that  gentleman's 
advice.  "  By  the  way,  there  is  no  fear  of  his  having 
to  fight  again.  No  soldier  escaped  from  captivity 
is  sent  back  into  the  firing  line.  It  would  not  be  fair  to 
let  these  men  be  taken  prisoner  a  second  time — they 
would  be  shot  by  the  Germans," 


8o  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

I  told  the  soldier  the  good  news.  His  face  became 
radiant  with  joy.  "  Our  prayer  has  already  been 
answered,"  I  said.  With  deep  emotion  he  replied, 
"  Yes,  thank  God  !  " 


CHAPTER   XVHI. 

In  German  Prison  Camps. 

"  What  happens  when  you  are  caught  ?  "    I   asked 
my  soldier  friends. 

"It  is  bad,  very  bad,"  they  said,  looking  quite 
scared  at  the  mere  thought  of  this  awful  suggestion. 
Then  one  of  them  told  me  that  the  usual  punishment 
for  attempted  escape  was  fourteen  days  in  a  dark 
cell  ;  also  to  be  tied  to  a  pole  with  the  feet  off  the 
ground  for  two  hours  a  day  until  forty  hours  have 
been  made  up  ;  and  each  day  after  being  taken  down 
from  the  pole  to  receive  twenty-five  strokes  with  an 
elastic  whip.  During  this  fortnight  warm  food  is 
only  given  every  fourth  day  and  later  every  third. 
In  another  camp  the  punishment  consisted  of  being 
put  into  punitive  barracks,  where  they  were  made  to 
run  every  day  for  two  hours,  having  at  fixed  intervals 
to  throw  themselves  full  length  on  the  ground,  jump 
up  immediately  and  run  on  again— a  most  fatiguing 
process. 


IN   GERMAN   PRISON  CAMPS.  8i 

There  were  also  camps  in  which  men  were  kept 
chained  to  poles,  while  in  others  they  were  actually 
tied  to  them  with  spiked  wire.  "  This  was  no  longer 
done  after  the  visit  of  Madame  Samsonov,"  said  one 
of  the  men  from  a  notoriously  bad  camp.  "  She  came 
to  inspect  our  camp  on  behalf  of  the  Red  Cross,"  he 
explained  for  the  benefit  of  his  comrades.  "  When 
she  detected  this  cruel  practice  she  refused  to  continue 
her  inspection,  and  thus,  for  fear  of  getting  into  trouble, 
the  Commandant  of  that  camp  abolished  this  form  of 
torture." 

The  escaped  prisoners  of  war  told  me  many  details 
of  life  in  captivity.  Much  of  it  was  a  terrible  indict- 
ment against  Germany  ;  it  was  a  recital  of  wanton 
cruelty  and  of  systematic  brutality.  The  men  who 
had  escaped  from  different  camps  compared  notes  in 
my  presence,  and  finally  they  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  experiences  of  those  who  had  been  in  Zaganz, 
Zelle  and  Wann  were  the  worst.  "  It  all  depends  on 
the   Commandant,"   they  said. 

They  were  always  fair,  these  Russian  men,  and  several 
spontaneously  tendered  the  information  that  they  had 
met — here  with  some  kind  convoy,  there  with  a  humane 
Commandant.  In  one  camp  it  was  an  Alsatian  officer 
of  whom  they  spoke  with  gratitude.  "  He  always  saw 
to  it  that  we  received  our  parcels  and  letters."  Others, 
however,  exclaimed  :  "  Our  Commandant  was  a  brute, 
many  times  have  we  seen  our  letters  flung  into  a 
furnace." 

Perhaps  the  greatest  hardship  the  prisoners  of  war 
have  to  endure  is  the  perpetual  torment  of  being  asked 
to  go  to  work  in  munition  factories  or  elsewhere  in  order 
to  help  their  enemy  ;  and  for  refusing  to  do  so,  they 


82  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

are  persecuted  and  punished.  Many  give  in  from 
sheer  despair,  especially  as  they  are  bullied  and 
threatened  without  respite,  and,  in  some  cases,  even 
tortured.  As  an  example  of  bullying,  my  friends 
related  that  they  were  informed  that  if  they  refused 
to  work,  as  desired,  it  would  be  noted  down  on  their 
papers  that  they  had  worked  in  munition  factories. 
"  Then,  when  peace  is  declared,"  they  said  to  us,  "  and 
you  return  home,  you  will  be  shot  for  having  done  so. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  you  do  go  to  work  for  us,  it  will 
not  be  noted  down  and  so  you  will  escape  punishment." 

It  requires  tremendous  moral  courage  to  hold  out 
under  such  circumstances.  All  the  more  honour  to 
the  men  who  do  so.  I  was  told  by  some  soldiers  that 
in  one  instance,  three  hundred  men  thus  persisted  in 
their  refusal  and,  infuriated  by  their  firmness,  the 
German  officer  shouted  at  them  :  "  Let  him  who  has 
the  courage  to  die  for  his  conviction,  step  forward." 
Forty  men  did  so. 

They  were  led  away  and  their  comrades  considered 
them  as  good  as  dead.  As  it  happened  these  particular 
men  were  not  shot,  but  many  such  brave  soldiers 
have  paid  with  their  lives  for  their  refusal  to  help 
Germany. 

It  amused  me  to  hear  these  men,  quite  uneducated 
soldiers,  speak  of  international  law.  "  We  told  the 
Germans  that  they  had  no  right  to  ask  us  to  do  such 
work,  for  it  is  against  all  international  law.  We  were 
willing  to  do  any  other  work,  as  long  as  it  was  not 
directed  against  our  own  people." 

One  tall  young  sergeant  confided  to  me  that  he  had 
had  the  satisfaction  of  causing  considerable  annoyance 
to  the  authorities  of  his  camp,  and  this  without  being 


ST.   ISAAC'S  CATHEDRAL,   PETROGRAD.      83 

found  out.  "  I  wrote  a  poem  on  '  Vilghelm,'  "  he  said, 
"  how,  thinking  the  world  was  getting  too  sleepy, 
he  decided  that  it  was  high  time  to  shake  old  Europe 
up  a  bit.  This  he  did,  convinced  that  it  would  be  all 
gain  for  him  and  that  all  the  other  sovereigns  would 
acknowledge  him  finally  as  their  overlord ;  instead 
of  which  he  found  himself,  to  his  horror,  forsaken  and 
alone,  and  then  '  Vilghelm  '  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
I  wrote  this  poem  in  latin  letters  although  in  the 
Russian  language,  and  posted  it  in  the  letter  box  of 
the  camp.  The  officials  were  so  annoyed  with  it  that 
a  generous  reward  was  offered  for  information  as  to 
the  author." 

The  young  soldier  laughed  with  delight.  He 
evidently  thoroughly  enjoyed  his  own  work.  "  No 
one  ever  earned  that  money,"  he  said,  "  and  if  you 
like,  I  will  write  the  poem  out  for  you  from  memory." 
Which  he  did. 


CHAPTER     XIX. 

The  St.  Isaac's  Cathedral  of  Petrograd. 

Not  hemmed  in,  like  St.  Paul's,  not  far  away  from  the 
centre  of  the  city,  like  St.  Peter's,  but  in  the  centre 
and  yet  standing  on  a  free  and  open  space,  thus  does 
the  visitor  to  Petrograd  behold  the  great  cathedral 
of  St.  Isaac's. 


84  REAL    RUSSIANS. 

It  is  a  beautiful  building  in  its  perfect  proportions. 
The  granite  pillars,  the  carvings  in  relief,  and  the 
giant  angels  on  the  corners  of  the  roof,  the  gilded 
cupolas  and  fine  dome,  all  strike  the  onlooker  as  beauti- 
ful and  noble.  Within  the  cathedral  there  is  beauty 
and  wealth,  and  an  air  of  solemnity  reigns  even  at 
times  when  no  service  is  being  celebrated.  Involun- 
tarily the  idle  sightseer  treads  softly  as  he  enters  the 
lofty  church,  for  it  is  essentially  a  place  to  pray  in, 
not  merely  one  in  which  to  admire  men's  skill  and  art. 

There  are  the  costly  pillars  of  lapis-lazuli  and  of 
malachite,  and  in  the  centre  of  this  gorgeous  beauty 
are  the  wonderful  gates  which  form  part  of  the 
sanctuary  screen,  and  the  ensemble  of  blue  and  green 
and  gold  gives  a  very  vivid  and  living  impression. 
The  large  pictures  between  the  pillars  are  all  in  mosaic, 
as,  indeed,  is  every  picture  in  this  church.  The  original 
paintings  have  been  replaced  by  mosaics,  and  the 
academician  who  carefully  added  piece  to  piece  felt 
content  in  doing  his  work,  for,  "  Was  it  not  for 
eternity  ?  "  as  he  himself  told  me  with  joy  and  pride. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  the  great  cathedral  was 
crowded,  and  as  I  stood  close  to  the  railings  which 
divided  the  congregation  from  the  central  space  in 
front  of  the  sanctuary  gates,  I  realised  what  a  hold 
such  a  service  must  needs  have  on  the  Russian  people. 

Beautiful  music,  sung  by  exquisite  voices,  filled  the 
vast  dome.  Tall,  stately  priests,  in  golden  vestments, 
walked  to  and  fro.  Several  aged  Bishops  stood  in 
silent  worship,  facing  one  another  on  either  side  in 
front  of  the  raised  platform,  upon  which  the  Arch- 
bishop stood  who  was  conducting  the  service.  As  he 
blessed  the  people,  holding  a  tall  golden  candlestick 


ST.   ISAAC'S  CATHEDRAL,   PETROGRAD.      85 

in  each  hand,  he  waved  these  in  the  air,  crossing  them 
in  order  to  bless  the  people  with  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
All  heads  were  bowed — silently,  devoutly,  the  congrega- 
tion followed  the  ritual.  The  only  words  one  could  hear 
distinctly  were,  "  Let  us  pray  unto  the  Lord,"  chanted 
by  the  Archdeacon,  in  a  bass  voice  so  deep  and  melo- 
dious that  it  sounded  like  the  deep  tones  of  an  organ. 
In  response  to  his  call  to  prayer  the  choir  chanted 
in  high,  clear,  silvery  tones,  "  Lord  have  mercy  upon 
us."  There  were  no  other  sounds  but  those  of  the 
chanting  and  of  the  gentle  patter  of  feet  on  the  stone 
floor,  for  more  and  more  people  were  coming  into  the 
church,  but  so  soft  was  the  sound  of  their  footsteps 
that  it  merely  added  to  the  sense  of  mystery  which 
pervaded  the  building. 

Suddenly,  the  great  sanctuary  gates  swung  open, 
and  we  beheld  the  Sanctuary — there,  glittering  in  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  stood  the  golden  model  of  the  cathedral. 
Beside  it  stood  two  three-branched  candlesticks,  and 
on  both  sides  of  the  altar,  deep  back  in  the  recess, 
two  gigantic  seven-branched  candlesticks,  and  as  the 
background  to  it  all,  the  transparent  figure  of  the  risen 
Lord  on  the  stained  glass  window. 

A  sound  like  the  tinkling  of  silver  bells,  so  soft  and 
high,  floated  towards  us  from  the  Sanctuary — boy's 
voices  chanting.  Then  the  Archdeacon  lifted  the  costly 
copy  of  the  Gospel,  all  studded  with  jewels  and  spark- 
ling in  the  light,  from  off  tlie  Holy  Table  where  it  is 
kept,  and  accompanied  by  choir  and  clergy,  he  walked 
down  the  church  to  the  Archbishop,  who  kissed  the 
Holy  Book. 

As  I  watched  the  stately  figures  of  the  gorgeously- 
clad  priests  moving  gracefully  over  the  soft  carpet, 


86  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

as  I  listened  to  the  tinkling  of  the  bells  on  the  vest- 
ments of  the  Archpriest,  as  I  saw  the  Holiest  of  Holies 
unveiled  before  the  people,  I  felt  transported  in  imagina- 
tion to  Jerusalem,  to  the  days  of  Priests  and  High 
Priests,  of  sacrifices,  ritual  and  symbols. 

There  was  one  thing,  however,  I  would  have  liked 
to  have  added  to  the  beautiful  service  in  St.  Isaac's 
Cathedral.  That  this  was  a  service  of  prayer  and 
communion  with  God  one  could  see  in  the  faces  of 
the  people,  and  could  even  feel  in  the  atmosphere, 
but  what  I  missed  was  an  audible  message  from  the 
Word  of  God.  It  was  the  people,  through  the  clergy 
and  choir,  calling  upon  God  for  mercy,  or  praising 
Him  with  Hallelujahs,  but  there  was  no  audible 
message  from  Him,  unless  it  might  be  the  conscious- 
ness that  He  hears  prayer. 

A  little  to  one  side  was  a  shrine  of  a  "  Miraculous  " 
Ikon  of  the  Virgin,  and  while  the  crowd  which  followed 
the  service  seemed  to  be  more  in  a  general  attitude 
of  devotion,  those  individuals  who  came  to  pray  before 
that  Ikon  had  personal  needs  to  plead.  Forgetful 
and  unconscious  of  those  around  them,  conscious 
only  of  their  sorrow  and  need,  men  and  women  knelt 
down  and  prayed  earnestly.  The  almost  passionate 
way  in  which  the  one  or  the  other  woman  signed  herself 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  or  prostrated  herself,  told 
of  anguish,  anguish  hardly  endurable. 

Oh,  the  War  and  its  terrible  sacrifice  of  life  ;  "  For 
men  must  fight  and  women  must  weep  "  seems  to  be 
the  motto  of  the  present  day  ;  but  the  Russian 
women  are  worthy  of  their  men  in  bravery,  and  if  they 
weep  when  pouring  their  hearts  out  before  God,  they 
also  take  their  share  in  the  brunt  of  the  battle.     It 


u 


^ 


1 


Ph 


ST.   ISAAC'S  CATHEDRAL,   PETROGRAD.      d>7 

is  they  who  work  on  the  fields  and  gather  in  the  harvest, 
and  who  fill  the  places  vacated  by  their  men-folk. 
It  is  the  soldatka,  the  soldier's  wife,  who  has  to  keep 
things  going  while  her  man  is  out  in  far-away  France, 
or  on  the  North-western  or  the  distant  Caucasian 
front. 

As  I  watched  the  worshippers,  my  heart  over- 
flowed with  pity  and  sympathy  for  the  mourners, 
and  especially  for  the  anxious  young  wife,  whose 
lips  moved  so  quickly,  and  whose  hands  were  clasped 
in  agonised  supplication.  Was  she  praying  for  her 
dear  one  lying  wounded  in  some  field  hospital  far  away 
at  the  front  ? 

Before  the  Ikon  of  the  Virgin,  candle  after  candle 
was  lit — the  outward  expression  of  the  inward  prayer 
of  the  Russian  people.  Men  and  women,  officials 
decorated  with  orders,  peasants,  elegantly  dressed 
ladies,  soldiers  and  little  children,  they  all  stepped  up 
to  the  Ikon  and  kissed  it.  Oh,  the  fervour,  the  longing 
expression  in  the  eyes,  which  pleaded  for  an  answer 
to  the  prayer  offered  !  As  I  followed  the  service  and 
looked  at  the  devout  worshippers,  the  thought  came 
again  and  again  to  my  mind,  "  This  people  draws  nigh 
unto  God  with  the  heart,  and  not  merely  with  the  lips." 

I  have  been  in  St.  Peter's  in  Rome,  where  I  felt 
chilled,  and  the  attitude  of  the  congregation  jarred 
upon  me.  There,  the  pompous  ceremony  seemed  to 
be  a  performance  which  the  people  had  come  to  watch, 
but  here,  in  St.  Isaac's,  there  was  worship.  It  is  true 
that  the  service  was  one  of  symbol  and  ritual,  but 
somehow  it  struck  me  as  living  and  real,  and  in  perfect 
harmony  with  the  solemn  beauty  of  the  vast  cathedral. 
Even  the  clergy  in  their  gorgeous  vestments  were  in 


88  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

keeping.  If  only  there  had  also  been  an  audible  mes- 
sage from  the  Word  of  God,  which  could  reach  the 
intellect  and  the  conscience  of  the  loving,  devout 
people  ! 

There  is  no  false  shame  about  the  Russians,  and 
not  merely  on  Sundays,  but  also  on  week-days,  they 
come  to  pray  in  the  cathedral.  Not  in  crowds,  but 
singly,  they  come  up  to  the  sacred  image,  prostrate 
themselves  before  it,  kiss  it,  or  merely  put  a  waxed 
taper  into  one  of  the  little  holders  of  the  large  candel- 
abra, which  stands  before  the  Shrines. 

I  have  also  watched  with  interest  soldiers  from 
distant  parts  of  the  Empire  walking  quietly  about, 
awed  by  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  cathedral, 
and  studying  the  beautiful  pictures. 

Solemnity  and  reality,  these  are  the  two  impressions 
the  visitor  to  St.  Isaac's  takes  away  with  him. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

Petitioners  All. 

I  DID  not  feel  at  all  awed  by  the  grandeur  and  solemnity 
of  the  waiting-room  of  the  important  general.  I 
had  a  smile  in  my  heart,  for  was  I  not  going  to  see  the 
man  who  alone  could  help  certain  men  I  was  interested 
in.  A  nice  friendly  orderly  took  my  card  and  requested 
me  to  sit  down.     It  was  a  large,  lofty  room,  and  on  the 


PETITIONERS  ALL.  89 

walls  hung  the  life-sized  portraits  of  the  last  three 
Emperors,  and  of  several  Grand  Dukes  who  had  been 
chiefs  of  the  Guard  Regiment  of  which  this  building 
was  evidently  headquarters. 

A  middle-aged  lady  who  sat  beside  me  began  to  talk 
vivaciously.  "  I  am  accustomed  to  luxury,"  she  said, 
gesticulating,  "  and  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  have  to 
go  without  it.  If  I  cannot  get  my  affairs  settled  satis- 
factorily in  this  Department,  I  will  write  a  petition  to 
the  Empress  Dowager,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  help  me." 

She  thereupon  volunteered  the  information  that 
it  had  been  notified  to  her  that  her  husband,  who  had 
been  missing  since  the  Japanese  War,  was  now  con- 
sidered to  be  dead.  Hence  she  would  no  more  receive 
his  salary,  but  only  a  pension,  and,  of  course,  this 
meant  the  loss  of  luxury  which  she  so  intensely 
resented. 

A  tall,  handsome  officer,  to  whom  the  orderly  had 
handed  my  card,  now  approached  me,  and  politely 
asked  my  business.  He  would  pass  it  on  to  his  Chief, 
he  said,  and  then  tell  me  whether  an  interview  would 
be  granted.  I  handed  him  a  document  I  always  carried 
about  with  me — he  looked  at  it  with  surprise  and 
unfeigned  interest,  and  then  requested  me  to  wait 
for  my  turn.  The  loquacious  widow  tried  a  shot  at 
him,  but  he  remained  unmoved,  and  in  reply  to  her 
eager  protestations  advised  her — with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye — to  write  a  petition.  He  declined  to  bring  her 
cause  personally  before  the  Chief. 

It  was  most  interesting  to  watch  the  people  who 
were  waiting  in  this  lofty  ante-room.  Probably  I  was 
the  only  one  who  had  not  come  on  a  personal  matter, 
hence  my  detachment  and  feeling  of  perfect  ease,  but 


90  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

I   sincerely   sympathised   with   the   others   who,    one 
and  all,  wore  a  pre-occupied  look. 

There  sat  an  officer,  his  face  so  pale  and  so  trans- 
parent— the  empty  sleeve  hanging  limply  down  by  his 
side  told  the  tale.     It  hurt  to  look  at  him. 

An  elderly  colonel  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
parquet  flooring,  impatiently  waiting  for  his  turn  to 
come  to  be  asked  his  business.  At  last,  the  amiable 
officer  on  duty  turned  to  him,  and  I  heard  that  he  sug- 
gested his  going  to  see  some  important  personage  at 
Peterhof. 

"  How  do  I  go  there  ?  "  asked  the  nervous  colonel. 

"  By  train,"  was  the  laconic  retort  of  the  officer, 
as  he  moved  on  to  the  next  applicant. 

The  orderly  took  pity  on  the  poor  provincial  officer, 
and  did  his  best  to  explain  matters  to  him,  but 
repeatedly  I  heard  the  colonel  say  excitedly — and  there 
was  despair  in  his  voice — "  But  I  have  come  all  the  way 
from  Moscow.  .  ."  The  officer  on  duty  had  a  humane 
heart,  and  seeing  the  colonel's  obvious  distress,  he 
suddenly  said  something  to  the  exasperated  petitioner, 
from  whose  face  the  clouds  vanished  ;  beaming  all  over 
with  contentment  he  went  to  a  couch  and  sat  down. 

A  young  woman  was  nervously  walking  about  the 
stately  room,  an  anxious  look  on  her  beautiful  face. 
Impatiently  she  tapped  the  parquet  flooring  with  her 
high-heeled  shoes ;  she  arranged  and  re-arranged 
her  smart  hat.  At  last,  the  adjutant  opened  the  doors 
of  his  Chief's  sanctuary  and  bowed  her  in. 

The  place  beside  me  was  now  occupied  by  a  quietly 
dressed  woman,  who  was  brimful  of  good  news,  and 
unable  to  restrain  herself  from  sharing  it  with 
someone. 


PETITIONERS  ALL.  gr 

"  Don't  you  think  the  General  is  very  kind  ?  " 
she  asked  me  in  a  whisper. 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  is,"  I  repUed. 

"  Now,  don't  you  think  he  is  really  a  good  man — 
always  nice,  and  not  merely  now  ?  "  she  went  on. 
"  For  I  am  sure  he  is,"  she  added  with  conviction. 
"  You  see,  he  has  been  so  full  of  sympathy  for  me, 
and  has  kindly  listened  to  all  I  had  to  say,  for  all  I 
want  is  my  right.  My  husband — well — I  have  no 
words  in  which  to  describe  what  kind  of  man  he  is — ■ 
in  a  word,  he  doesn't  send  me  any  money.  Does 
he  really  think  the  child  and  I  can  live  on  air  ?  I 
know  quite  well  what  his  pay  is,  and  as  he  persistently 
refuses  to  answer  my  letters  I  have  at  last  come  here, 
and  now  I  have  been  promised  that  one-third  of  his 
pay  will  be  sent  direct  to  me.  I  only  want  what  is 
my  right,"  she  repeated,  loQking  with  happy  eyes  at 
the  officer,  who  had  such  a  gentle  and  confidence- 
inspiring  manner. 

The  door  of  the  Chief's  room  opened,  and  with  bounc- 
ing steps  the  young  lady  came  out.  Her  face  was 
radiant  ;  she  seemed  so  happy  as  to  be  hardly  able 
to  restrain  herself  from  laughing  outright  with  joy. 
She  smiled  a  farewell  at  the  officer — she  nodded  genially 
to  the  orderly,  and  almost  danced  out  of  the  elegant 
waiting-room. 

"  His  Excellency  will  see  you,  madam,"  the  officer 
said  to  me,  and  a  moment  later  I  stood  before  General 
Khabaloff,*  the  man  who  since  the  war  had  become 
the  arbiter  of  the  destinies  of  so  many. 

*  This  General  finally  used  his  power  to  command  the  troops 
to  shoot  on  the  people  during  the  recent  revolution,  and  was  in 
consequence  imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
by  order  of  the  Provisional  Government. 


92  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

Two  Generals. 

The  aristocratic-looking  general  listened  to  my  story 
with  an  expression  of  utter  incredulity  on  his  face  ; 
at  last  he  said — a  faint,  sarcastic  smile  playing  about 
his  mobile  lips — 

"  What  you  tell  me,  madam,  sounds  exactly  like —  " 

"  Fairy  tales,"  I  suggested,  interrupting  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  precisely  so,  just  like  fairy  tales." 

"  Yet  it  is  as  true  as  Gospel,"  I  answered  empha- 
tically. 

The  general  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked  into  the 
next  room,  returning  a  few  minutes  later  with 
another  high  military  official,  whom  he  introduced  to 
me. 

"  Will  you  kindly  repeat  to  my  colleague  what  you 
have  told  me?  "  he  said. 

The  other  general  listened  with  astonishment  to 
all  I  had  to  say. 

"  The  men  tell  me  that  the  Commandant  is  not 
actually  unkind  to  them,  but  that  he  simply  takes  no 
notice  of  them  at  all.  In  fact,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned, 
they  do  not  seem  to  exist,"  I  said  to  the  two  generals, 
quoting  the  exact  words  of  my  soldier  friends. 

Turning  to  his  colleague,  the  unbelieving  Excel- 
lency remarked  :  "I  request  you  to  go  yourself  to- 
morrow to  the  barracks  to  look  into  this  matter." 
Then  addressing  me  :  "  Believe  me,  madam,  it  is  im- 
possible, according  to  Army  Regulations,  to  give  these 


TWO  GENERALS.  93 

men  free  tickets  to  their  homes  ;  soldiers  must  pay  the 
fourth  part  of  the  fare  unless  they  are  invalided 
home,  in  which  case  they  are,  of  course,  sent  free  of 
cost." 

"  Your  Excellency,  these  men  are  not  soldiers  on 
leave — they  have  escaped  from  captivity,  and  are 
therefore  penniless.  How  can  they  be  expected  to  pay 
their  fares,  and  what  are  they  to  buy  food  with  on  the 
long  journey  ?  " 

"  I  presume  they  would  like  to  travel  second  class 
and  eat  in  dining-cars,"  he  said  sneeringly. 

I  felt  very  indignant  at  his  callous  behaviour.  "  It 
is  quite  unnecessary  to  speak  like  that,"  I  retorted 
boldly.  The  haughty  man  took  my  rebuke  good- 
naturedly,,  and  changed  his  tone  considerably. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said  at  last,  apparently  more 
amenable  to  reason.  "  If  the  men  are  granted  leave 
at  all,  they  should  be  enabled  to  make  use  of  the  per- 
mission ;  only  there  is  no  law  which  entitles  them 
to  the  help  you  want  us  to  give  them." 

"  Well,  frame  a  new  law,"  I  suggested. 

"  That  takes  time,"  he  replied,  "  a  Commission  will 
have  to  sit  on  it  first." 

"  What  about  the  Emperor  ?  "  I  asked,  and  the 
general,  bowing  as  if  in  obeisance,  said,  with  a  glimmer 
of  fun  in  his  eyes,  "  The  Emperor's  word  is  law." 

"  Then  I  shall  ask  His  Majesty  to  pass  such  a  law," 
I  replied,  as  I  rose  to  go. 

At  least  I  had  succeeded  to  the  extent  that  a  General 
of  the  Staff  was  going  in  person  to  enquire  into  matters 
— which  was  already  something  gained. 


94  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Dejected  Recruits. 

Close  to  the  entrance  to  the  barracks  on  the  Zago- 
rodni  Prospect  some  peasants  were  sitting  close  to 
the  window,  which  opened  low  to  the  ground.  An 
interesting  lot  they  were  to  look  at — very  raw  and 
full-bearded,  older  in  years  than  ordinary  soldiers. 
I  stopped  and  began  to  talk  to  them. 

"  We  had  been  considered  unfit,  and  now,  after  all, 
they  have  sent  for  us,"  a  gawky,  red-haired  man  of 
some  thirty-five  years  of  age  said  to  me  peevishly. 

His  eyes  had  a  look  of  blank  astonishment. 
Apparently  he  could  not  realise  the  fact  that  he  was 
in  barracks  in  Petrograd  instead  of  in  his  village. 
There  was  nothing  martial  about  him  ;  he  had  long 
red  hair  and  beard,  and  dreamy  pale  blue  eyes,  and 
I  wondered  what  kind  of  a  soldier  he  would  make. 

Beside  him  on  the  window-seat,  sat  a  little,  wiry, 
black-haired  man,  and  deeper  in  the  gloomy  room  on 
benches,  leaning  over  the  table  to  listen  to  our  con- 
versation, were  some  five  or  six  moujiks.  They  all 
looked  terribly  dejected. 

"  If  at  least  they  would  give  us  something  to  eat," 
remarked  one  of  them.  "  Here  we  are  since  last  night, 
and  no  one  seems  to  trouble  about  us." 

It  was  late  afternoon,  and  crowds  kept  passing 
the  window,  wives  and  sweethearts  accompanying 
their  menfolk.  Officers  and  soldiers  also  were  going 
to  and  fro  all  day  long,  but  no  one  seemed  to  have  an 


DEJECTED   RECRUITS.  95 

eye  for  these  forlorn  moujiks.  The  overworked  staff 
of  officers  and  clerks  were  working  at  high  pressure, 
but  nevertheless  there  was  disorganisation  and  muddle, 
for  the  number  of  recruits  was  enormous  ;  thus  it 
was  that  the  dejected,  hungry,  unfit  men,  had  to  wait 
their  turn  to  be  made  fit.    The  question  was — when  ? 

I  asked  them  about  the  effect  of  the  abolition  of 
vodka.     The  wiry  little  man  answered  eagerly  : 

"  Oh,  it  is  just  splendid  ;  life  is  so  different,  and 
our  women  are  so  happy." 

"  Yet  they  are  trying  to  make  us  drunk,"  said 
another  of  the  unfits,  who  had  come  out  of  the  gloomy 
room  to  the  window.  "  Formerly,  they  used  to 
grumble  at  us  men  for  drinking,  and  now,  after  all, 
it  is  they  who  are  tempting  us  by  concocting  all  sorts 
of  intoxicating  drinks,"  he  went  on. 

"  Not  so  the  women  where  I  come  from,"  remarked 
a  third  man.  "  Everybody  is  sober,  and  no  one  drinks 
khanja." 

The  sad  "  unfits "  forgot  their  sorry  plight  for 
awhile,  discussing  conditions  of  life  since  the  abolition 
of  drink.  A  whole  group  had  gathered  around,  and  all 
were  taking  part,  giving  their  opinions.  The  conclusion 
they  arrived  at  was  that  it  was  good  to  be  without 
vodka,  and  that  those  who  tried  to  evade  the  law 
by  illicit  distilling,  or  by  brewing  horrid  mixtures, 
were  only  few. 

"  Of  course,  some  drink  denaturat  (methylated 
spirits).  There  is,  however,  no  chance  of  their  getting 
drunk  many  times  on  that  stuff,  for  it  kills  them," 
remarked  a  thoughtful-looking  moujik. 

I  had  to  go,  and  having  wished  the  men  good  luck, 
I  parted  from  the  group  of  pronounced  anti-vodkaists. 


96  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

The  red-haired  man  still  looked  with  astonished  eyes 
about  him.  The  new,  strange  surroundings  had 
quite  bewildered  hun.  I  wondered  would  a  little  glass 
of  vodka  not  have  changed  his  depression  ?  Life 
might  have  seemed  less  puzzling  to  him,  but  there  was 
no  vodka  to  be  had,  and  I  could  only  hope  that  he 
would  soon  get  a  square  meal  and  then  be  put  into 
uniform. 

A  few  days  later  I  again  passed  the  same  window — 
it  was  open,  and  I  peeped  into  the  gloomy  room. 
It  was  empty.  Evidently  the  link  of  organisation 
had  been  joined,  the  men  had  at  last  been  taken  notice 
of,  and  had  been  put  in  the  right  place  ;  and  I  hoped 
that  soon  the  magnificent  spirit  of  the  soldiers  would 
take  hold  of  the  dejected  men.  They  were,  to  be  sure, 
older  men,  who  had  left  wife  and  children  behind  ; 
besides,  it  was  the  time  for  gathering  in  the  harvest. 
Perhaps  their  despondency  was  partly  due  to  anxious 
thought  as  to  what  might  happen  to  their  corn. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

*A  Magnificent  Institution. 

"  Will  you  let  me  show  you  some  day  the  Chief 
Depot  of  the  Red  Cross  ?  "  my  father's  old  friend  said 
to  me. 

"  With   pleasure,"    I   replied,   and  we  arranged  at 
once  where  and  when  to  meet.    The  Professor  handed 

♦Reprinted  by  kind  permission    of    the  Editor    of    the    Russian 
Supplement  of  the  Times,  and  also  of  the  Editor  of  the  Hospital. 


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A  MAGNIFICENT  INSTITUTION.  97 

me  the  latest  reports  of  his  pet  institution,  of  which 
he  is  the  Vice-President.  Forced  to  keep  in  my  bed 
for  a  day,  I  set  to  and  studied  this  annual  report, 
drawn  up  by  the  President  of  the  Council  of  the  Chief 
Depot,  B.  C.  Ordin,  Chamberlain  of  the  Emperor. 
He  and  Professor  von  Petersen  are  the  personal  links 
between  the  Red  Cross  and  the  Depot,  for  both  these 
men  are  members  of  the  principal  Committee  of  the 
Red  Cross,  of  which  the  energetic  and  capable  Prince 
Alexander  of  Oldenburg,  Commander-in-Chief  of  the 
Service  Sanitaire  is  the  President.*  He  is  the  man 
on  whose  shoulders  rests  the  whole  responsibility 
of  the  wounded,  and  the  care  for  the  transport  of  the 
totally  disabled  prisoners  of  war  sent  back  from 
Germany  via  Sweden. 

In  studying  the  report  I  soon  discovered  the  cause 
of  the  astounding  efficiency  of  this  institution,  a  degree 
of  efficiency  such  as  one  does  not  usually  associate 
with  Russian  undertakings.  The  secret  of  the  success 
is  the  unimpeachable  honesty  of  the  personnel,  and 
this  was  plainly  stated  in  so  many  words. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  able  to  accompany  Professor 
von  Petersen  to  the  depot.  I  was  very  interested 
to  see  now  for  myself  what  I  had  read  about  with  so 
much  pleasure.  During  our  drive  to  the  depot  the 
Professor  gave  me  a  rapid  review  of  the  growth  and 
development  of  this  work.  He  told  me  that  experience 
gained  during  the  Japanese  War  had  taught  the  Com- 
mittee of  the  Red  Cross  many  lessons.  Therefore,  on 
the  conclusion  of  the  war,  a  few  members  of  the  Red 
Cross  at   once   decided   to  apply   these   lessons,   and 

♦The  Prince,  like  all  the  other  Grand  Dukes,  has  since  resigned 
his  official  position,  but  enjoys  the  respect  of  everyone. 


98  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

formed  the  Council  of  the  Central  Depot.  They  received 
permission  to  call  in  all  the  medical  material  over  from 
the  war  ;  this  they  had  very  carefully  sorted,  and  all 
that  was  good  was  stored  in  a  block  of  warehouses 
which  they  rented  at  heavy  cost.  The  accumulated 
stores  were  gradually  sold  off  to  other  institutions, 
and  fresh  material  bought  with  the  money  realised  by 
the  sale.  The  Council  also  evolved  a  complete  scheme 
of  preparedness  ;  model  types  of  field  hospitals  with 
all  the  necessary  appliances  were  worked  out  in  theory, 
catalogued,  and  then  gradually  all  the  necessaries 
were  actually  prepared.  Later  the  Council  bought  some 
acres  of  ground  on  the  outskirts  of  Petrograd,  where 
the  Chief  Depot  was  built,  not  merely  as  a  warehouse, 
but  as  a  supply  store. 

From  what  my  friend  related  I  was  prepared  to  find 
a  good  institution,  but  what  I  actually  saw  myself 
amazed  me.  Having  been  introduced  to  the  General 
Manager,  who  in  spite  of  his  German  name  is  a  real 
Russian,  I  was  told  that  it  was  he  who  had  invented 
many  of  the  most  practical  appliances.  The  Professor 
had  told  him  that  as  my  father's  daughter  I  was  sure 
to  be  interested  in  this  work.  He  had  good  reason  for 
thinking  so,  for  my  father's  hospital  had  once  upon  a 
time  been  the  model  hospital  of  Petrograd,  and  it  was 
there  that  the  Professor  had  been  his  assistant.  He 
admitted  to  me  with  deep  gratitude  how  much  he  owed 
to  my  father's  teaching  and  example.  He  told  me 
that  much  of  what  was  best  in  this  place  was  a  direct 
result  of  the  experience  gained  in  those  days  long  gone 
by,  and  during  the  war  of  1877-8,  when  he  had  joined 
the  hospital  unit  at  the  front  of  which  my  father  had 
been  the  originator. 


A  MAGNIFICENT  INSTITUTION.  99 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  what  your  father  used  to 
say,"  the  Professor  continued  ;  "  '  I  am  not  only  the 
Director  of  my  Hospital,  but  also  its  Chief  Dvornik  ' 
(a  kind  of  handy-man).  You  see,  by  this  he  meant 
that  he  aimed  at  understanding  every  detail  of  work. 
Now  this  is  what  I  am  also  trying  to  do  in  order  to  be 
able  to  supervise  intelligently  those  who  execute  my 
orders. 

I  naturally  felt  very  pleased  to  hear  this. 

Following  the  manager,  who  would  have  liked  best 
to  show  me  everything,  we  now  walked  through  the 
fine  buildings,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  inspecting  so  many 
factories,  laboratories,  warehouses,  and  workshops 
of  clothing  and  underlinen,  of  hardware  and  saddlery. 
In  spacious  workrooms  I  saw  close  upon  two  hundred 
neatly-clad  young  girls  cutting  out  bandages  with  the 
aid  of  first-class  machinery.  The  bandages  were  then 
sterilised,  wrapped  up  and  packed.  The  manager 
gave  me  one  of  the  ready  bandages  as  a  memento  of 
my  visit.  He  illustrated  for  me  the  principle  upon 
which  they  are  worked.  A  little  end  of  string  has  to 
be  pulled,  and  thereby  the  parchment-like  paper  cover 
is  torn  open  and  the  bandage  unfolded,  in  such  a  way 
that  the  dressing  can  be  applied  without  having  to 
be  touched  at  all.  Thus  the  dirtiest  hand  can  bandage 
a  wound  with  safety. 

In  another  department  we  watched  one  of  the  sanitars* 
cut  out  sixty  pairs  of  calico  trousers  at  one  turn  of  the 
handle  of  the  machine.  I  walked  through  storerooms 
packed  up  to  the  very  ceiling  with  blankets,  warm  vests, 
and  woollen  hosiery.  "  Let  the  winter  come,"  said 
my  guide  with  a  happy  smile,  "  we  do  not  fear  it ; 

♦A.M.C.  men. 


100  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

we  have  everything  ready."  In  the  saddlery  store  was 
every  appurtenance  for  horses  and  ambulance  vans. 
The  Professor  informed  me  that  the  Council  keeps  in 
present  use  at  the  front  more  than  eighty-three  such 
ambulance  units,  each  with  loo  horses. 

I  passed  through  a  large  storeroom  in  which  every 
kind  of  hardware  was  being  kept.  I  was  shown  boilers 
for  drinking  water,  and  my  guide  explained  that 
whereas  the  foreign  stills,  of  which  he  showed  me  some 
very  fme  samples,  cost  £90  each,  one  invented  by  the 
ingenious  manager  of  the  depot  costs  ten  guineas 
only,  and  does  equally  good  service.  I  was  told  that 
it  is  chiefly  due  to  these  stills  that  there  is  so  little  illness 
among  the  Russian  troops,  who  thus  not  only  drink 
boiled  water,  but  actually  distilled  water.  We  walked 
through  showrooms  of  surgical  instruments,  and  the 
manager  showed  me  with  pride  surgical  cabinets  which 
can  be  folded  up  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  strapped 
to  the  back  of  a  horse  to  be  carried  to  a  safer  place. 
I  also  saw  the  folding  field  medicine  chest,  equally 
portable.  In  fact,  everything  was  so  carefully  planned 
out  as  to  require  the  minimum  of  labour  and  space  for 
transport.  The  Professor  told  me  what  the  Immble- 
minded  manager  had  left  unsaid,  namely,  that  these 
portable  articles  were  due  to  his  ingenuity. 

I  soon  realised  that  efficiency,  economy  of  space  and 
time,  were  not  only  aimed  at,  but  really  secured. 
Everything  is  ready  to  hand  in  the  depot,  and  I  was 
told  that  even  a  telegraphic  request  for  a  complete  field 
hospital  could  be  met  just  as  easily  and  as  speedily  as 
an  order  for  so  many  thousand  tabloids,  or  packages 
of  bandages,  hundredweights  of  rice,  or  cases  of  soap 
— in  fact,  all  these  orders  are  actually  executed  the  same 


A  MAGNIFICENT  INSTITUTION.  loi 

day  as  received.  The  articles,  ready  for  use  and  packed 
in  cases  made  on  the  premises,  are  promptly  placed 
in  trucks  which  stand  outside  the  warehouse,  and  are 
then  immediately  carried  along  a  private  railway  line 
which  is  connected  with  the  Central  Railway  system. 
I  was  led  to  understand  that  the  reception  of  the  goods, 
which  come  to  the  depot  from  every  part  of  the 
Empire,  as  well  as  from  abroad,  is  just  as  expeditious, 
for  the  depot  has  its  own  Custom  House,  where  dues 
on  foreign  goods  are  collected  on  the  spot,  and  thus 
delay  is  avoided. 

In  one  of  the  yards  I  observed  large  numbers  of 
iron  casks — "  carbolic  acid  from  England,"  the  Pro- 
fessor said.  I  also  saw  goods  from  America,  bales 
of  cotton  from  Japan,  etc.,  etc.  What  drastic 
measures  are  taken  if  goods  prove  not  to  be  what  they 
seem  is  characteristically  illustrated  by  the  following 
story  which  the  Professor  told  me  : — 

An  offer  of  so  many  bales  of  absorbent  cotton  wool 
had  been  made  by  Japan  and  accepted  by  the  Council. 
These  bales  were  examined  on  arrival,  and  a  great 
many  were  found  to  contain  ordinary  cotton  wool, 
upon  which  an  immediate  request  was  made  to  Japan 
to  send  men  out  at  once  in  order  to  go  through  the 
immense  quantity  of  bales.  After  the  Japanese  had 
separated  the  absorbent  from  the  non-absorbent 
cotton  wool,  the  latter  was  paid  for  at  its  real  value, 
that  is,  at  half  the  price  of  the  absorbent,  and  since 
then  all  Japanese  goods  delivered  to  the  depot  leave 
nothing  to  be  desired. 

This  Council  is  sub-divided  into  Commissions,  each 
devoted  to  its  own  speciality,  and  thus  every  delivery 
of  goods,  whether  tapes,  drugs,  or  boilers,  is  examined 


102  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

and  tested,  and  if  found  to  be  below  the  standard, 
is  rejected.  I  was  shown  some  tape  being  tested. 
It  is  owing  to  this  care  in  the  minutiae  of  detail  that 
field  hospitals  and  other  Red  Cross  institutions  never 
find  themselves  at  a  loss,  for  whatever  they  receive 
can  be  relied  upon  for  quality. 

The  Professor  explained  to  me  that  the  Red  Cross 
is  primarily  meant  to  act  as  a  supplementary  agency 
to  the  Medical  Department  of  the  War  Office,  upon 
which,  in  Russia,  the  care  of  the  wounded  devolves. 
On  what  gigantic  scale  this  supplementary  work  is 
carried  out  I  had  already  judged  from  studying  the 
report.  My  kind  guide  informed  me  that  at  the  present 
time,  however,  this  depot  was  supplying  over  2,000 
institutions,  both  in  the  war  zone  and  at  the  base, 
with  everything  they  required — everything  in  its 
fullest  meaning,  even  food.  The  two  hospital  ships, 
which  have  unfortunately  both  been  sunk  in  the 
Black  Sea  by  the  Turks,  had  been  fitted  out  by  the 
Council  of  the  depot  ;  it  had  also  provided  and  sent 
out  to  the  front  ninety  portable  X-ray  installations. 
Many  of  these  are  fixed  upon  motor  cars. 

In  order  to  lessen  the  strain  on  the  doctors,  a  number 
of  non-commissioned  officers  were  trained  to  become 
experts  in  Rontgen  photography.  Twenty-six 
hospital  trains  were  equipped,  and  five  factories  for 
the  manufacture  of  artificial  ice  established.  Of 
course,  all  this  is  in  addition  to  the  numerous  field 
hospitals.  The  Council  of  the  dep6t  also  undertook 
to  provide  anti-gas  outfits,  but  owing  to  the  lack  of 
chemicals  this  work  had  to  be  carried  out  under 
great  difficulties.  Very  soon,  however,  the  obstacles 
were  overcome,  and  the  necessary  anti-gas  masks  or 


A  MAGNIFICENT  INSTITUTION.  103 

rather   bandages     prepared,    the    demand    for    which 
arose  until  it  reached  100,000  per  day. 

In  view  of  the  impossibihty  of  buying  certain  drugs 
formerly  imported  from  abroad,  the  enterprising  Com- 
mittees established  on  the  premises  a  chemical 
laboratory  for  the  making  of  complicated  drugs.  The 
machinery  for  these  came  from  America,  and  it  was 
fascinating  to  watch  500  tabloids  being  turned  out  in 
one  minute. 

Great  difficulty  was  at  one  time  experienced  with 
regard  to  the  supply  of  such  widely  different  articles 
as  field  kitchens,  hypodermic  syringes  and  needles, 
woollen  and  linen  materials  and  surgical  instruments. 
Nothing  daunted,  the  Council  decided  to  create  a 
supply.  Patterns  of  these  articles  were  sent  to 
specially  selected  factories,  with  the  happy  result  that 
the  urgent  needs  of  the  hospitals  were  met, 
while  at  the  same  time  home  industry  was  being 
developed. 

The  Professor  told  me  with  joy  and  satisfaction 
that  the  war  had  awakened  the  nation — that,  once 
Slavonic  indolence  has  been  shaken  off,  it  is  amazing 
what  Russians  can  and  will  do.  The  energetic  and 
intensely  practical  Teuton,  who  had  hitherto  provided 
them  with  everything  they  needed,  was  now  out  of  the 
running,  and  necessity  forced  the  Slav  to  exert  himself. 
To  the  surprise  of  themselves  and  of  everybody  else, 
the  Russians  had  turned  out  to  be  equally  capable 
of  producing  and  manufacturing  most  of  the  things 
required.  "It  is  a  revelation  to  the  manufacturers 
what  they  are  able  to  produce,"  added  the  manager, 
"  for  all  they  supply  to  our  depot  must  be  of  the  best 
quality." 


104  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

It  has  thus  been  demonstrated  that  Russia  can  do 
very  well  without  German  goods. 

I  had  been  impressed  by  the  tidy  appearance  of 
the  workers,  and  by  the  business-like  manner  in  which 
everything  was  done  by  them.  The  Professor  there- 
upon told  me  that  the  staff  consists  of  475  paid 
employees,  such  as  clerks,  chemists,  artisans,  bandage 
makers,  labourers,  etc.  Then  there  is  the  Council, 
consisting  of  24  members,  honorary  workers,  who 
give  regularly  of  their  valuable  time,  thought,  and 
strength  towards  this  great  enterprise.  They  are  all 
busy  men,  renowned  experts  in  their  different  pro- 
fessions. The  fact  that  these  court  officials,  army  and 
medical  men,  scientists,  manufacturers  and  merchants 
come  twice  a  week  to  the  dep6t  to  do  their  par- 
ticular work  of  inspection  or  examination,  proves 
how  faithfully  and  patriotically  they  carry  out  their 
self-imposed  duties  towards  their  wounded  fellow- 
countrymen. 

The  more  I  saw  of  the  Chief  Depot,  and  the  marvel- 
lous order  which  prevailed  in  every  department,  the 
more  I  understood  my  guide's  enthusiasm.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  joy  to  see  an  institution  so  efficiently  carried  on. 

The  demand  upon  the  help  of  the  Council  has  steadily 
increased.  Since  the  beginning  of  the  war,  expenditure 
has  risen  from  seven  million  roubles  to  almost  forty 
million  roubles  during  the  present  year.  The  Professor 
told  me  that  it  had  been  suggested  that  the  Red  Cross 
ought  to  be  called  "  The  Ministry  of  Mercy,"  for  in 
Russia  the  great  Government  Departments,  whether 
Foreign  Office,  Home  Office,  or  Board  of  Trade,  are 
all  called  by  the  name  of  Ministries.  I  like  the  idea 
of  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg  being  styled  a  "  Minister 


A  MINISTER  ABLE  AND  WILLING.         105 

of  Mercy."  I  know  he  can  also  be  an  "  Administrator 
of  Wrath." 

It  had  taken  quite  a  long  time  to  inspect  this  large 
compound  of  buildings,  and  as  we  returned  to  the 
office,  I  expressed  to  the  manager  and  to  the  Vice- 
President  my  sincere  admiration  for  all  I  had  seen. 
"  Would  you  permit  me  to  write  an  article  about 
the  Chief  Dep6t  ?  "  I  asked  ;  "for  I  would  like  your 
Allies  to  know  about  this  work  you  are  doing 
here." 

"  Indeed,  we  should  be  very  pleased  if  you  would 
do  so,"  was  the  hearty  reply.  We  then  arranged  that 
photographs  of  the  depot  should  be  sent  to  me.  A 
large  album  was  shown  me,  copies  of  which  were  just 
going  to  be  sent  to  the  young  Grand  Duchesses,  the 
Tsar's  daughters.  From  this  album  I  made  my  selec- 
tion of  those  photographs  which  I  thought  would  best 
convey  to  foreigners  an  impression  of  this  magnificent 
organisation  to  which  Russia's  soldiers  owe  so  much. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A  Minister,  Apparently  Both  Able  and  Willing 
TO    Help. 

Thanks  to  the  introduction  of  Mr.  Khvostoff,  I  was 
received  by  Mr.  Stepanoff,  Assistant  Minister  of 
the  Interior.  I  was  led  upstairs  by  a  servant,  the  doors 
were  flung  open  and  I  stepped  into  a  large  and  lofty 


io6  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

room.  Behind  the  big  writing-table  stood  a  tall,  severe 
and  very  self-conscious  looking  man,  who  did  not 
move  one  step  towards  me,  but  let  me  come  right  up- 
to  him. 

He  reminded  me  of  a  certain  doctor  in  Harley 
Street,  anxious  to  impress  the  visitor  with  his  im- 
portance. 

"  I  think  I  am  right  in  assuming  that  you  know 
the  reason  for  my  call,"  I  said. 

"  No,  I  do  not.  All  I  know  is  that  you  desire  to 
see  me." 

This  meant  that  I  had  to  fight  my  own  battle  The 
high  official  invited  me  to  be  seated  and  then  I  told 
him  that  I  had  been  informed  that  the  Administrative 
Exiles  were  under  his  jurisdiction. 

"  Yes,  so  they  are,"  he  replied  laconically. 

"  Mr.  Khvostoff  tells  me,"  I  went  on,  "  that  in 
order  to  have  their  lot  alleviated  I  have  to  appeal  to 
you." 

The  important  gentleman  bowed  acquiescence,  then 
pointing  to  a  stack  of  blue-bound  papers,  he  remarked  : 
"  Look  at  these  documents  ;  they  are  petitions  for 
liberation  and  I  am  considering  them  ;  in  fact,  I  am 
always  liberating  people." 

I  told  him  the  purpose  of  my  journey  and  how 
keenly  British  people  felt  about  the  sj^stem  of  exile. 
He  suddenly  unbent  and  said  in  a  changed  tone  of 
voice  :  "  I  also  am  against  administrative  exile,  and 
think  it  is  high  time  that  the  system  should  be 
abolished.  I  am  convinced  that  people  would  much 
prefer  even  four  years  of  imprisonment  after  due  trial, 
than  a  lesser  number  of  years'  exile  by  administrative 
order." 


A  MINISTER  ABLE  AND  WILLING.         107 

"  I  think  so  too,"  I  said,  "It  is  the  unfairness  of 
being  banished  without  trial  that  is  so  galUng.  Your 
Excellency,  let  us  come  to  the  point.  What  can  be 
done  now  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  names  of  individuals  you  could  put 
before  me  ?  "  he  suggested.  "  If  so,  it  should  be  quite 
an  easy  and  simple  matter  to  get  them  liberated." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "for  I  came  to  plead  against  the 
system  and  not  for  individuals  ;  but  if  you  will  let 
me  see  your  list  of  exiles  I  shall  soon  give  you  names." 

He  smiled  good-naturedly  at  this  ingenious  solution 
of  the  difficulty.  All  his  stiffness  left  him  and  we  had 
a  good  practical  talk.  He  told  me  that  my  requeit 
for  the  liberation  of  administrative  exiles  was  not  so 
impossible,  and  he  actually  volunteered  to  have  their 
cases  revised.  It  appeared,  however,  that  all  those 
exiles  who  had  been  condemned  by  the  Courts — and 
at  present  they  constitute  the  majority  of  exiles  and 
prisoners* — did  not  come  under  his  department. 
According  to  his  statistics  there  were  only  670  adminis- 
trative exiles  of  the  old  order  left.  "  Then  there  are 
6,000  more,"  the  Minister  added,  "  but  they  have  been 
sent  into  exile  since  the  beginning  of  the  war  and  for 
its  duration  only." 

Mr.  Stepanoff  promised  to  have  a  revision  of  cases 
made  as  soon  as  possible,  and  then,  remembering  the 
parting  words  of  a  Russian  friend  in  London  :  "If 
you  could  but  get  Baboushka  Breshkovskayaf  free  !  " 
I  told  the  Minister  about  this  renowned  old  lady,  so 
well-known  and  loved  in  America.     He  knew  all  about 

*  Over  20,000  such  political  exiles  and  prisoners  were  in  Siberia 
in  March,  1917,  and  all  these  have  been  amnestied. 

I  The  "Grandmother"  of  the  Russian  Revolution. 


io8  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

her,  and  promised  to  look  into  her  case  and  to  have 
all  information  ready  for  me  on  my  return  from 
Kiev. 

Then  we  discussed  different  aspects  of  the  political 
situation  created  by  the  war,  and  he  frankly  admitted 
that  there  was  at  present  no  revolutionary  activity 
or  even  agitation.  "  They  are  all  loyally  helping  to 
win  the  war,"  he  said.  I  told  him  of  a  case  of  quite 
unusual  patriotism  which  it  had  been  my  privilege  to 
encounter.  A  political  refugee  in  Paris  had  preferred 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  arrested  on  arrival  at  the 
Russian  frontier  and  of  being  sent  at  once  to  Siberia 
(which  he  knew  would  be  the  sentence  passed  on  him), 
rather  than  to  live  abroad  in  safety  while  his  country 
was  in  need.  He  believed  that  his  skill  as  an  engineer 
and  builder  of  aircraft  ought  to  be  placed  at  the  service 
of  his  Fatherland. 

"  Then  there  is  Bourtzeff,"*  Mr.  Stepanoff  said. 
"  He  came  to  see  me  and  told  me  that  his  work 
demanded  his  presence  in  Petrograd  where  he  was  not 
allowed  to  live,  but  here  he  has  been  ever  since,  and 
I  let  him  remain.  What  I  do  consider  rather  too  bad 
is  that  his  friends  are  annoyed  with  me  for  not  permit- 
ting him  to  go  to  Finland,  where  he  now  desires  to 
reside." 

Mr.  Stepanoff  and  I  parted  very  amicably.  Gone 
was  his  stiff  formal  manner — he  actually  accompanied 
me  to  the  door. 

♦Since  the  Revolution  Mr.  Bourtzeff  has  been  in  charge  of  the 
Pohce  Archives.  He  was  the  first  revolutionary  leader  to  call  upon 
his  comrades  to  put  political  party  cries  aside  and  help  win  the 
war.  He  was,  however,  arrested  at  the  Russian  frontier,  but  later 
on   liberated. 


RESERVISTS   IN   THE   HERMITAGE.         109 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

Reservists  in  the  Hermitage. 

I  HAD  been  visiting  the  Hermitage,  Petrograd's  National 
Gallery,  and  just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  it, 
my  attention  was  arrested  by  a  group  of  sturdy,  bearded 
men,  who  looked  absurdly  out  of  place  in  these  elegant 
halls.  Their  bewildered  faces  drew  forth  my  sym- 
pathy, and  approaching  them  I  said  : 

"  I  presume  you  have  been  called  up  to  join  the 
Army  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Baryinia,  we  are  naval  reserves  from  the  Olonetz 
Province,  and  as  we  had  a  free  day,  we  thought  we 
would  like  to  see  the  museums  of  Petrograd,  only  we 
can't  understand  anything  of  all  these  pictures,"  the 
spokesman  said  ruefully,  pointing  to  a  Vandyck.  "  If 
only  there  were  written  in  Russian  underneath  what 
it  is  all  about." 

"  Come  on,  friend,"  I  said,  "  I'll  explain  some  of 
them  to  you,"  and  accompanied  by  the  grateful  naval 
reserves,  some  twelve  or  fourteen  men,  I  picked  out 
pictures  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 

The  men  looked  very  pleased,  but  then  a  happy 
thought  struck  me,  and  leaving  Italian  and  Dutch 
schools  to  connoisseurs  of  art,  I  showed  my  companions 
the  beautiful  vases  of  malachite  and  lapis-lazuli,  of  grey 
and  reddish  marble,  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
rooms.  The  reservists  became  quite  eager,  and,  gather- 
ing round  the  green  and  blue  vases,  loudly  expressed 


no  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

their  admiration.  I  told  them  that  such  green  vases 
were  to  be  seen  in  palaces  of  foreign  rulers,  gifts  from 
Russian  emperors. 

Next  we  came  to  costly  tables,  inlaid  with  lovely 
stones  found  in  the  Ural  Mountains.  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  watch  the  joy  of  the  men,  and  their  pride  in  these 
Russian  stones.  "  To  think  that  such  stones  are  born 
in  Russia,"  said  one  of  the  men,  shaking  his  head 
to  and  fro,  with  love  and  pride  in  his  voice.  They 
tenderly  touched  the  Russian  stone,  but  their  hearts 
found  the  greatest  delight  when  I  showed  them  an 
Italian  mosaic  table,  for  the  inlaid  horses,  butterflies, 
birds  and  cattle  pleased  them  immensely. 

"  Now  are  not  these  horses  just  as  if  alive  ?  " 

"  Look  at  these  sheep  !  " 

"  Do  you  see  these  birds  ?  " 

As  they  expressed  their  pleasure  without  reserve, 
a  custodian  walked  up  to  us,  and  rather  surprised, 
looked  at  me  and  my  bearded  companions. 

"  I  am  only  explaining  these  tables  to  the  naval 
reserve  men.  You  see,  they  were  rather  at  sea  in  the 
Gallery."  The  kindly  man  immediately  grasped  the 
situation,  and  told  me  where  to  find  some  more  such 
marvels  of  mosaic. 

We  had  finished  our  round,  and  there  on  the  landing 
of  the  hall  the  men  saw  the  more  than  life-size  marble 
statues  of  Cain  and  Abel.  My  new  friends  were 
intensely  interested. 

"  Look  at  his  face !  "  said  one  of  them,  pointing  to 
Cain. 

"  Does  he  not  look  very  frightened  and  horrified  ?  " 

"So  he  does,"  I  replied,  "  but  small  wonder,"  and 
I  pointed  to  the  outstretched  figure  of  the  dead  Abel. 


RUSSIAN  WORKING  PEOPLE  ON  SUNDAY,     iii 

"  Now,  is  he  not  just  like  real  ?  "  said  another  one, 
gently  touching  the  hand  of  the  murdered  brother. 

It  was  time  for  me  to  leave,  and  we  descended  the 
broad  staircase.  In. parting,  I  gave  the  men  minute 
directions  how  to  find  the  Memorial  Church  of  Alex- 
ander II.  and  the  Museum  of  Alexander  III.,  where 
Russian  art   is  exhibited. 

Before  saying  farewell,  I  asked  one  of  the  men : 

"  How  is  the  harvest  ?  "  His  face  was  all  aglow 
with  joy  as  he  replied  : 

"  The  Good  God  has  given  us  everything  in 
plenty,  hay  and  corn."  Then  his  voice  grew  softer, 
and  he  spoke  pensively  as  he  added,  "  But  who  will 
gather  it  all  in  ?  " 

They  surrounded  me,  and  in  their  simple,  warm- 
hearted manner  thanked  me  for  having  shown  them  so 
many  things.  I  told  them  the  joy  was  mine,  for 
were  they  not  heroes  going  to  fight  for  us  ? 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

Amongst  Russian  Working  People  on  a  Sunday. 

An  old  peasant  beside  wh«m  I  had  been  sitting,  one 
Sunday  afternoon,  told  me  that  because  the  people 
of  Russia  no  longer  spend  their  money  on  drink,  they 
are  able  to  buy  good  food,  and  that  in  spite  of  the 
tremendous  rise  in  prices. 


112  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  We  can  afford  to  buy  it,"  he  said,  "  because  we 
have  money."  An  interesting  fact  this  from  a  pohtico- 
economical  point  of  view. 

This  war  has  already  done,  and  is  still  doing,  wonder- 
ful things  for  the  Russian  people,  and  the  first  move 
towards  this  national  metamorphosis  was  undoubtedly 
the  abolition  of  vodka.  As  the  result  of  the  sobriety 
which  followed  on  compulsory  abstinence,  the  people 
have  learnt  new  values  and  new  standards  of  living. 

Why  go  in  rags,  or  merely  eat  bread  and  onion, 
when  there  is  money  in  hand  for  more  ? 

"  How  much  do  you  want  for  your  fowl  ?  "  an 
acquaintance  of  mine  asked  a  peasant  woman. 

"  Twelve  roubles  (24s.),"  was  her  prompt  reply. 

"  But  why  so  much,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"  Well,  Baryinia,  I  can  afford  to  eat  fowls  myself, 
so  why  should  I  sell  it,  except  at  a  fancy  price  ?  " 

This  true  story  is  characteristic  of  the  altered 
economic  conditions  in  Russia.  The  people,  however, 
have  never  needed  their  ready  money  more  than  at 
present,  for  food  is  at  famine  prices  in  the  big  towns, 
and  if  it  were  not  so  desperately  sad,  it  would  be 
comical  to  have  such  exorbitant  prices  asked  for  every- 
thing— prices  so  utterly  out  of  proportion. 

Even  the  ubiquitous  sunflower  seed,  which  the  poor 
love  to  crack  with  their  teeth,  retaining  the  tiny 
kernel  in  their  mouth,  dexterously  spitting  out  the 
husk,  like  monkeys — even  this  popular  luxury  has  risen 
from  5  kopeks  to  twenty  kopeks  a  pound. 

One  day  I  watched  three  prosperous  young  working- 
men  sitting  together  on  a  little  river  steam-launch, 
enjoying  these  sunflower  seeds.      It  was   fascinating 


RUSSIAN  WORKING   PEOPLE  ON  SUNDAY.    113 

to  watch  them,  and  I  almost  imagined  myself  in  the 
Zoo.  The  youths  were  perfectly  happy  with  their 
seeds,  as  were  some  little  ragamuffins  sitting  close  by 
with  their  cigarettes,  and  one  of  these  only  was  the 
proud  possessor  of  a  box  of  twenty.  What  would 
English  onlookers  have  thought  of  this  ?  No  one, 
however,  took  any  notice  whatever  of  such  a  common 
occurrence  as  little  boys  smoking. 

They  were  an  interesting  lot,  my  fellow-passengers 
on  the  little  launch  which  runs  across  the  Neva,  then 
along  the  Fontanka  on  to  Kalinkin. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  and  everyone  was  in  his 
best.  The  artisans'  wives  had  rich  black  lace  silk 
shawls,  which  cost  from  thirty  to  forty  shillings  each, 
on  their  heads  ;  their  daughters,  however,  wore  smart 
hats.  There  were  young  workmen  in  brand  new 
sateen  shirts,  one  wore  a  shirt  of  salmon  pink,  girded 
with  a  red  cord  from  which  dangled  a  green  tassel 
to  match  his  cap.  Another  was  dressed  in  brown, 
with  a  broad  green  belt — then  I  saw  one  in  pale  blue 
and  another  one  in  heliotrope.  How  tame  and  colour- 
less in  contrast  is  the  Sunday  best  of  the  factory-hand 
of  Western  Europe. 

It  is  these  touches  of  bright  colour  in  the  shirts 
of  men  and  boys  which  give  relief  to  the  otherwise 
drab  clothing  of  the  urban  population  of  the  poorer 
districts.  In  the  country  it  is  the  brilliant  scarlet 
skirts  and  headkerchiefs  of  the  women  at  work  in  the 
field  that  convey  the  impression  of  bright  patches 
of  poppies  in  the  corn. 

The  little  launch  got  more  and  more  crowded  as  time 
went  on,  with  lovers,  family  parties  and  children.  At 
one  of  the  landing  places,  a  quaint  elderly  gentleman, 


114  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

in  spotlessly  clean,  but  shabby  clothes,  stepped  into 
the  boat,  and  as  he  pushed  his  way  in,  he  called  out 
in  a  loud  voice,  "  His  Majesty  the  Tsar  in  person." 
The  poor  old  thing  sat  down  in  the  middle  seat,  and 
screwing  his  face  into  queer  contortions,  rubbed  his 
fine,  white  scholarly  hands  together  continuously. 
Once  more  he  loudly  proclaimed  the  fact  that  he  was 
the  Tsar,  but  nobody  laughed.  A  handsome  young 
labourer  only  gave  me  a  knowing  smile,  and  a  vendor 
of  cucumbers  whispered  to  me,  "  He  is  not  quite  right 
in  his  head."  A  little  girl  of  some  two  years,  sitting 
in  her  mother's  lap,  suddenly  began  to  rub  her  little 
hands  vigorously  together.  When  her  father  asked 
her  whom  she  had  seen  do  that,  she  pointed  straight 
at  the  poor  old  lunatic,  but  her  father,  an  ordinary 
working  man,   rebuked  her  for  this. 

WTiat  good  thoughtful  faces  these  men  had,  and 
what  refined  hands — hands  which  are  commonly  called 
"  intellectual." 

I  asked  one  of  the  women  where  all  the  people  were 
going  to.  "  Some  to  the  church  of  the  Saviour,  others 
to  the  hospital  to  visit  relations  and  friends,"  but 
she  herself  was  going  to  the  Church  to  worship,  she 
told  me. 

I  thoroughly  enjoyed  my  hour  and  a  half  in  the  little 
steamer,  for  apart  from  the  human  element,  we  passed 
many  interesting  buildings.  I  noticed  also  many  large 
barges  full  of  birch  logs,  the  fuel  of  Northern  Russia, 
which  one  is,  however,  hardly  able  to  procure  in 
Petrograd,  though  great  stacks  of  this  wood  are  to 
be  seen  piled  up  on  barges  along  the  side  of  the  quays 
of  all  the  branches  of  the  Neva  and  of  the  many 
canals. 


RUSSIAN  WORKING   PEOPLE  ON   SUNDAY.    115 

"  Rings  "  and  "  corners  "  are  at  present  the  curse 
of  Russia,  and  no  wonder  that  the  people  murmur, 
and  even  pubhcly  talk  of  lynching,  after  the  war,  the 
speculators  who  are  creating  famine  prices  in  order 
to  enrich  themselves.  I  could  not  but  sympathise 
with  this  demand  for  summary  justice  ;  however,  a 
high  official  told  me  that  there  was  not  enough  rope 
to  go  round  for  all  those  who  deserved  to  be  hanged. 

Who  is  to  blame  for  the  state  of  affairs  ? 

I  grew  weary  of  hearing  of  nothing  but  prices  in  tram- 
car  and  private  houses,  and  I  had  to  forbid  the  old 
faithful  servant,  when  waiting  on  me  at  table,  to  quote 
the  price  of  everything  I  ate,  for  it  made  me  feel  as  if 
I  were  swallowing  money. 

Fortunately  for  me  my  fellow-passengers  in  the 
launch  were  not  talkative,  and  so  on  this  occasion 
I  was  spared  the  perpetual  topic  of  famine  prices, 
or  were  they  so  well  off  that  they  could  ignore  them  ? 
Never  before  has  the  Russian  factory  hand  earned 
so  much  money  as  now,  and  war  pay  has  made  him 
affluent. 

Most  of  these  men  and  women  were  out  to  enjoy 
themselves,  which  they  did  decently  and  quietly. 
While  some  were  pre-occupied  with  their  own  thoughts 
— for  were  they  not  going  to  see  their  loved  ones  in 
hospital  ? — those  who  were  bound  for  the  church  were 
solemnising  their  thoughts  for  worship. 


ii6  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Prohibition. 

"  This  shop  is  closed  " — I  read  this  notice  in  many 
windows  in  Petrograd. 

"  Why  is  that  restaurant  closed  ?  "  I  asked  my 
cousin,  pointing  to  a  well-known  small  but  select 
restaurant. 

"  That  restaurant  there  had  to  close,"  he  remarked, 
"  because  it  used  to  make  its  profits  on  wines  and 
spirits,  and  since  the  prohibition  of  the  sale  of  alcohol 
and  spirits,  many  restaurants  have  had  to  shut  down. 
Breweries  also  are  not  working  at  present." 

"  Do  the  shareholders  get  compensation  ?  "  I  asked 
a  gentleman,  who  told  me  that  his  distillery  had  been 
forced  to  stop  working. 

"  None  whatever,"   he  replied. 

"  What  do  you  do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  for  although  we  are  the  losers  by  these 
drastic  measures,  the  nation  is  the  gainer." 

One  evening  I  was  dining  at  one  of  the  smartest 
restaurants  of  Petrograd.  All  the  small  tables  in  the 
garden  were  occupied  by  well-dressed  ladies  and  men 
in  uniform.  Very  few  were  in  civilian  clothing.  My 
host  ordered  a  choice  dinner — caviare  and  other  luxuries 
were  served — but  no  wines.  Everybody  drank  kvass, 
a  delicious  non-alcoholic  national  beverage.  We 
drank  this  frothy  "  sucharny  "  kvass  out  of  fine  large 
glasses,  and  I  am  sure  all  these  smart  people  thoroughly 
enjoyed    the   cooling   draught.     For   me   this   was   a 


PROHIBITION.  117 

new  experience — a  Russian  teetotal  dinner  party — 
but  my  friends  had  evidently  become  so  accustomed 
to  it  that  no  comment  even  was  made  as  to  the  absence 
of  wine. 

"  You  cannot  buy  any  Eau  de  Cologne  without  a 
doctor's  prescription,"  my  friend  said  to  me  one  day 
when  I  had  expressed  my  intention  of  doing  so. 

"  But  why  not  ?  "  was  my  astonished  retort. 

"  For  the  simple  reason  that  people  have  taken  to 
drinking  Eau  de  Cologne,  and  when  they  cannot  get 
that,  many  drink  methylated  spirits." 

We  had  been  talking  about  the  abolition  of  alcohol 
and  of  the  various  tricks  people  were  having  recourse 
to  in  order  to  satisfy  their  craving  for  it,  and  a  doctor 
friend  then  told  me  of  the  following  incident. 

One  night  he  was  sent  for  to  go  to  a  home  for  Polish 
refugees.  He  found  it  furnished  with  a  minimum  of 
necessaries.     The  patient  was  seriously  ill. 

"  Have  you  a  hot  bottle  you  can  give  her  ?"  he  asked 
the  matron. 

"  No,  we  do  not  go  in  for  such  luxuries." 

"  Then,  please,  get  me  some  flannel  and  we  will  make 
her  a  hot  fomentation." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  we  have  no  flannel." 

"'  Then  at  least  give  her  at  once  a  drop  of  brandy." 

"  Brandy  !  "  exclaimed  the  matron,  her  eyes  brighten- 
ing with  a  sudden  hope,  "  we  have  none,  but  please, 
doctor,  prescribe  plenty  of  brandy  and  wine  and  then 
we  will  be  able  to  get  it." 

Needless  to  say  the  doctor  did  nothing  of  the  kind ; 
but  what  he  did,  was  to  provide  that  home  with  the 
necessaries  required  for  invalids. 


ii8  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Nearly  every  day  I  passed  one  of  the  shops  which 
had  a  notice  across  its  window  proclaiming  the  fact 
that  the  business  was  closed.  The  window  was  on  a 
level  with  the  pavement,  and  in  the  basement  I  observed 
a  man  sitting  at  a  table  littered  with  papers.  At  other 
times  I  saw  him  stooping  over  large  account  books 
and  wondered  was  he  making  up  bills  for  imaginary 
customers,  or,  was  he  merely  studying  old  bills  ?  He 
always  wore  the  same  contented  expression.  The  en- 
forced idleness  did  not  appear  to  weigh  heavily  upon 
him,  but  perhaps  he  was  not  the  owner  who  was  losing 
financially  by  the  closing  of  the  business,  but  merely 
a  clerk,  paid  to  keep  the  shop  aired  for  after  the 
war — when  once  again  wines  will  be  in  demand. 


CHAPTER   XXVni. 

The  Festival  of  the  St.  George's  Cavaliers. 

Truly  magnificent  specimens  of  men  are  the  Cavaliers 
of  the  Order  of  St.  George,  the  V.C.'s  of  the  Russian 
army.  I  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  hundreds  of  them, 
both  olficers  and  men,  for  July  3rd  was  kept  as  their 
day,  and  in  the  gaily  decorated  grounds  of  the  People's 
Palace  at  Petrograd,  I  spent  some  hours  watching 
thousands  of  people  holiday-making  in  honour  of  these 
Cavaliers.  All  the  takings  of  the  day  at  this  and  at 
four  other  public  parks  were  dedicated  to  the  orphans 


FESTIVAL  OF  ST.   GEORGE'S  CAVALIERS.      119 

and  widows  of  the  fallen  heroes,  bearers  of  the  St. 
George's  Cross. 

Brilliant  sunshine  gave  to  this  gathering  of  people 
that  touch  of  brightness  which  holiday-making  requires. 
The  grounds  of  the  People's  Palace  were  hung  with 
flags,  many  of  them  orange  and  black,  the  colours 
of  the  ribbon  of  St.  George,  while  large  St.  George's 
crosses  and  St.  George's  medals  were  used  as  decora- 
tions. A  well-clad,  orderly  crowd  of  working  people, 
with  just  a  sprinkling  of  officers,  thronged  the  large 
grounds. 

Among  the  heroes  were  many  invalids,  many  maimed, 
legless,  armless,  or  blind — every  group  in  charge  of 
their  nurse.  Some  of  the  men  wore  four  crosses  and 
as  many  medals,  the  most  a  man  can  get.  Both  they 
and  their  more  fortunate  comrades,  the  unwounded 
St.  George's  Cavaliers,  struck  me  as  wonderfully  fine 
men.  There  was  a  marked  similarity  in  figure  and  face, 
as  if  bravery  and  heroism  were  natural  to  a  certain 
type  of  man. 

I  sat  on  a  bench  near  an  old  peasant  who  talked 
of  the  war,  and  a  young  girl  who  regretted  her  inability, 
on  account  of  the  crowd,  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  variety 
show  then  taking  place  in  the  open-air  theatre. 

A  little  later,  a  one-legged  cavalier  took  a  seat  near 
me.  He  looked  so  forlorn  that  I  ventured  to  speak 
to  him,  and  when  I  heard  that  for  some  unknown 
reasons  the  St.  George's  Cavaliers  from  his  hospital 
had  not  been  taken  to  any  of  the  parks,  and  that 
he  had  come  out  all  by  himself,  I  waived  convention 
and  invited  him  to  have  some  tea  with  me.  This  he 
accepted,  whereupon  we  moved  to  the  open-air 
restaurant,    where  innumerable    people    were    sitting 


120  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

round  little  tables,  all  drinking  tea.  There  was  no 
empty  table,  but  I  found  two  vacant  places  at  one 
occupied  by  a  couple  of  smart  non-commissioned 
officers  of  the  Preobrajenski  Regiment,  both  wearing 
the  St.  George's  Cross  on  their  uniform. 

I  asked  their  permission  to  sit  down,  which,  of  course, 
was  politely  granted,  and  thus  I  partook  of  my  after- 
noon tea  in  the  company  of  three  Cavaliers. 

After  waiting  a  long  time,  my  order  for  tea  was 
executed,  and  what  eventually  arrived  was  as  un- 
English  a  tea  as  possible — namely,  a  small  empty  tea- 
pot, another  huge  one  full  of  boiling  water,  four  lumps 
of  sugar,  some  slices  of  lemon,  and  a  pinch  of  tea 
wrapped  up  in  paper.  Plumping  this  down  before  me, 
the  waitress  remarked  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice, 
"  There,   make  your   own  tea."     Which   I   did. 

But  what  about  cups  ?  On  the  little  table  stood 
two  empty  glasses,  into  which  the  waitress  had  poured 
some  hot  water  from  the  big  pot.  Evidently  each 
customer  was  expected  to  wash  his  own  glass.  My 
soldier-visitor  and  I  managed  three  glasses  each  of  the 
delicious  amber-coloured  beverage,  flavoured  with 
lemon,  and  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  hot  cakes — like 
doughnuts,  but  filled  with  rice.  As  these  cakes  were 
very  greasy  they  were  served  with  a  tissue-paper 
serviette. 

When  the  waitress  again  came  for  payment,  my 
soldier  offered  to  pay  his  share,  but  I  reminded  him  that 
it  was  I  who  had  invited  him,  and  told  him  that  the 
honour  had  been  mine. 

The  crowd  now  increased  rapidly,  and  all  around 
stood  groups  of  splendid  cavaliers.  As  I  watched 
the  orderly,  sober  crowd  of  merry-makers,  I  thought 


TRUE   HUMANITY.  121 

how  different  it  was  from  the  liohday-making  of  years 
ago.  And  again  and  again  the  words  shaped  them- 
selves in  my  mind — "  a  sober  people."  Truly  a 
wonderful  sight,  a  crowd  of  thousands  of  people — 
later  in  the  Petrovski  Park,  I  was  among  ten  thousand 
people — and  all  quiet,  orderly  and  sober.  Not  one 
drunken  man  or  woman  did  I  see,  and  the  same  cause 
which  made  them  sober — the  abolition  of  vodka — made 
this  sober  people  prosperous-looking  and  well  clad. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

True  Humanity. 

He  was  a  big,  fair-haired  fellow,  with  a  generous 
heart  and  a  keen  sense  of  humour.  With  a  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  he  very  simply  told  me  some  incidents 
from  his  life  as  a  prisoner  of  war  in  Germany. 

"  Although  I  was  a  non-commissioned  officer  and 
therefore  had  no  need  to  go  out  and  work,  I  offered 
to  do  so  when  volunteers  were  asked  for.  When  I 
presented  myself  to  go  as  a  labourer  to  some  peasants, 
the  Commandant  of  the  lager  said  to  me,  '  Sie  nix 
nach  Russland  laufen  ?  '  " 

For  my  benefit  he  translated  the  question  :  "  You 
will  not  escape  to  Russia  ?  " 

"  '  Nein,  nix  Russland  laufen,'  I  replied,  but  of  course 
I  went  to  work  only  with  that  hope  and  intention. 
I  was  sent  to  an  old  couple  where  I  lived  really  well," 


122  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

and  then  interrupting  himself  with  a  merry  laugh, 
he  said  to  me  :  "  but  I  must  admit  I  didn't  do  much 
work,  and  whenever  the  old  peasant  asked  me  when 
the  dog's  kennel  which  I  had  promised  to  make  would 
be  ready,  I  said  always,  '  To-morrow.'  Yet  in  spite 
of  this  they  fed  me  with  their  best  and  treated  me 
kindly.  You  see,  the  old  man  had  fought  against  the 
Germans  in  1870  and  had  been  shut  up  in  Metz,  and  he 
didn't  love  the  Germans  overmuch  even  now.  Several 
of  my  comrades  were  working  some  miles  away  from 
where  I  was,  for  these  '  Germantzi '  would  not  let  us 
be  together  in  case  we  might  plan  to  escape.  We  had, 
however,  been  promised  that  we  could  all  meet 
occasionally  on  Sundays.  As  no  prisoner  of  war  may 
walk  alone,  my  old  man  promised  to  take  me  to  a 
certain  village  where  I  hoped  to  meet  my  comrades. 
There  was  no  one  on  the  heath  which  we  had  to 
cross,  and  as  we  walked  along,  I  suddenly  looked  at 
the  old  peasant  beside  me,  and  the  thought  struck 
me  :  '  Now,  who  can  hinder  my  making  an  end  of 
him,  and  going  off  into  liberty  ?  '  But  then  I  said 
to  myself  :   '  What,   kill  an  old  man  ?     No,   never  !  ' 

"  When  I  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  I  said  to  my 
guard,  who  was  carrying  a  loaded  gun,  '  If  I  try  to  run 
away  and  escape,  will  you  shoot  me  ?  ' 

"  The  old  man  looked  steadily  at  me  for  a  moment, 
then  turning  his  head  away,  he  said  quietly  : 

"  '  No,  my  son,  too,  is  a  prisoner.'  " 


A  CHANGE   OF  MINISTERS.  123 


CHAPTER   XXX. 
The  Common  Occurrence  of  a  Change  of  Ministers. 

"  Have  you  heard  that  there  is  to  be  a  change  of 
Ministers  ?  Stuermer  is  going  to  be  Foreign  Minister 
m  place  of  Sazonoff ;  Khvostoff  is  taking  Stuermer's 
place  as  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  Makaroff  will 
be  Minister  of  Justice,"  said  one  the  Assistant  Ministers 
with  whom  I  was  lunching. 

"  And  what  about  you  ?  "  I  asked.  He  laughed 
and  spoke  of  retiring  from  office. 

In  the  evening  my  cousin  said  to  me  :  "  Did  you 
read  in  the  papers  that  the  Ministers  were  going  to 
discuss  the  whole  principle  of  exile  at  their  Council  ? 
Now,  of  course,  owing  to  this  change  of  Ministers, 
the  Council  will  not  be  held." 

A  few  days  later  I  was  informed  that  the  new 
Minister  of  Justice  was  expecting  a  visit  from  me. 
It  seemed  useless  to  go  to  him,  for  had  not  his  prede- 
cessor categorically  refused  to  do  anything  for  the 
exiles  under  his  jurisdiction  ?  Still,  I  had  no  right 
to  risk  losing  an  opportunity — so  I  went. 

I  had  been  warned  that  I  might  have  to  wait,  as  the 
new  Minister  was  holding  an  official  reception.  I 
found  myself  in  the  waiting-room,  among  a  number 
of  gentlemen  all  in  full  uniform,  and  awaiting  their 
turn  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  new  man  in  power. 
Most   of    them    looked    uncomfortable    in    their    stiff 


124  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

gold-embroidered  gala  uniforms,  with  a  broad  red 
ribbon  across  the  chest.  One  or  two  looked  decidedly 
nervous. 

In  the  next  room,  a  much  larger  one,  several  other 
important  personages,  in  the  full  glory  of  ribbons 
and  decorations,  were  excitedly  walking  up  and  down. 
I  heard  one  of  the  officials,  evidently  some  secretary, 
whisper  to  a  man  sitting  at  a  table,  with  a  large  book 
in  front  of  him,  "  Five  gentlemen  and  then  the  lady." 
I  was  therefore  greatly  surprised  to  find  that  when 
the  door  opened  to  let  a  Senator  out,  I  was  asked 
to  step  in. 

A  tall  man  with  a  long  beard,  looking  very  much  like 
a  benevolent  schoolmaster,  rose  to  greet  me.  L  ex- 
pressed my  thanks  at  being  received,  and  offered 
congratulations  on  his  new  appointment.  Mr.  Makaroff 
looked  decidedly  pleased,  and  said  :  "  Thank  you  for 
your  kind  congratulations,  but  you  see  it  is  nothing  new 
to  me  to  be  a  Minister.  I  have  already  once  filled  the 
position  of  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  for  me  power 
has  lost  its  charm." 

"  Nevertheless,  power  is  a  wonderful  thing,"  I  replied. 
"  It  brings  with  it  such  great  opportunities,  and  I  hope 
you  will  at  once  use  it  to  help  the  exiles."  He  thereupon 
told  me  that  he  was  much  interested  in  what  he  deigned 
to  call  my  business,  and  also  that,  in  the  course  of 
his  career,  he  had  had  frequent  occasion  to  deal  with 
political  prisoners  and  exiles. 

Then,  looking  at  me  rather  seriously,  he  said,  "  No 
exile  condemned  by  the  Courts  can  be  released  without 
the  signature  of  His  Majesty.  The  pardon  must  come 
from  him." 


A  CHANGE  OF  MINISTERS.  125 

I  showed  him  the  document  concerning  the  brave 
old  lady,  Mme.  Breshko-Breshkovskaya*  ;  for,  true  to 
his  promise,  Mr.  Stepanoff  had  prepared  for  me  an 
abstract  of  her  case,  in  which  it  was  stated  that  she 
had  tried  to  escape,  had  been  caught  and  condemned, 
and  therefore  came  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Minister 
of  Justice. 

Mr.  Makaroff  carefully  looked  through  the  report. 
"  Of  course,  it  is  quite  a  simple  inatter  to  get  her  re- 
leased," he  said,  "  only  first  her  friends  must  send  in 
a  petition,  and  then  she  has  to  write  herself.  You 
see  it  has  happened  several  times  that  friends  have 
pleaded  for  the  release  of  a  prisoner,!  and  that  after 
His  Majesty  has  granted  it,  the  individual  in  question 
has  refused  to  accept  his  act  of  grace.  The  Emperor 
cannot  be  exposed  to  such  rebuffs,"  the  Minister  said 
emphatically,  "  hence  it  is  imperative  for  the  party 
concerned  to  express  regret  for  the  past,  and  to  be 
willing  to  ask  for  clemency." 

"  That  Madame  Breshkovskaya  will  never  do,"  I 
replied.  "  She  will  never  believe  that  she  has  anything 
to  repent  of,  and  she  is  far  too  true  to  her  convictions 
to  change  them.  If  that  is  the  only  way  to  get  her  free, 
she  will  prefer  to  remain  in  Siberia,  I  will  do  my  best 
to  explain  how  matters  stand  to  her  friends  in  England 
and  America." 

Towards  the  close  of    the  interview,   Mr.   Makaroff 

*Mme.  Breshko-Breshkovskaya,  "  the  Grandmother  of  the  Russian 
Revolution,"  as  she  is  called,  was  one  of  the  first  exiles  to  return 
to  Petrograd.  She  is  in  favour  of  continuing  the  war  until  Germany 
is  defeated. 

fit  is  against  the  ethics  of  Political  Exiles  and  prisoners  to  ask 
or  let  anyone  else  ask  for  clemency. 


126  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

said,  "  There  are  very  many  reasons  against  the 
amnesty  for  which  you  are  pleading,  but  also  very 
many  reasons  for  it,  and  I  do  not  want  to  imply 
in  the  least  that  the  cons  outweigh  the  pros."  His 
remarks  made  me  very  happy,  and  I  told  him  so. 

"  The  best  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  see  what  cate- 
gories could  be  suggested  to  His  Majesty  for  an 
amnesty,"  he  added.  "  I  will  have  it  put  in  hand  at 
once,  only  please  believe  me,  that  it  is  far  too  big  a 
matter  to  be  arranged  within  a  few  days." 

We  agreed  that  I  should  come  and  see  him  again. 
As  I  left  the  building  I  walked  on  air,  for  what  his 
predecessor  had  flatly  refused,  Makaroff  intended  doing. 
So  an  amnesty  was  not  an  impossible  thing  after  all, 
and  the  change  of  Ministers  was  benefiting  those 
whose  cause  I  had  come  to  plead. 

I  think  my  face  must  have  shown  something  of  the 
hope  and  joy  I  felt. 


CHAPTER   XXXL 

Russian  Birches. 

Nowhere  in  the  world  are  there  such  beautiful  birches 
as  in  Russia,  and  nowhere  in  Russia  are  there  such 
beautiful  birches,  in  my  opinion  at  least,  as  in  the  park 
of  Levashovo. 

I  am  lying  under  one  of  these  white-stemmed  giants 
and  rejoicing  in  the  graceful  trees  all  around  me.     It 


RUSSIAN  BIRCHES.  127 

is  a  lovely  summer's  day.  The  air  is  scented,  and, 
stretched  out  on  fresh  hay,  I  am  listening  to  the 
chirping  of  birds,  the  fine,  crackling  sound  made  by  the 
squirrels,  the  monotonous  song  of  the  mosquitoes, 
and  the  gentle  whisper  of  the  birch  leaves.  The  sky 
is  cloudless,  and  against  the  blue  background 
gigantic  birches  are  standing  out  in  all  their  grace 
and  softness  of  form,  while  the  leaves  of  isolated 
branches  appear  like  showers  of  green  drops  arrested 
in  mid-air. 

It  is  fascinating  to  watch  the  effect  of  the  breeze 
which  now  and  then  springs  up,  touching  merely  the 
tops  and  upper  branches  of  the  birches.  It  produces 
a  ripple,  which  spreads  from  tree  to  tree,  and  while 
the  boughs  of  those  nearest  to  me  have  again  become 
motionless,  the  leaves  of  the  further  ones  are  still 
moving.  The  leaves  seem  to  be  trembling  under  the 
kiss  of  Zephyr,  and  the  gentle  sound  of  rustling,  first 
faint,  then  increasing  in  sound,  and  finally  dying  away. 
Here  and  there  stand  majestic  fir  trees,  tall  and 
stately,  their  dark  branches  serving  as  a  contrast  to 
the  silvery  white  stems  and  pale  green  leaves  of  the 
birches. 

Nature  intended  these  northern  trees  to  grow  to 
such  giants  as  those  on  which  the  park  of  Levashovo 
prides  itself.  It  is,  however,  man's  hand  which  has 
enabled  them  to  develop  to  such  perfect  proportions. 
In  the  forest  the  individual  tree  cannot  do  so,  because 
the  trees  stand  in  close  masses,  while  in  this  park 
there  is  breathing  and  expanding  space  provided  by 
judicious  clearing. 

As  I  lie  and  look  about  me,  my  attention  is  arrested 
by  a  group  of  birches  of  perfect  beauty,  one  of  them, 


128  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

which  consists  of  three  trunks  out  of  one  root,  has  a 
kind  of  matronly  look,  while  not  far  from  it  stands  a 
tall,  slender  birch — a  graceful  maiden.  To  lie  in  the 
shadow  of  the  big  branches  of  the  fir  tree,  and  just 
to  watch  Nature,  to  listen  to  its  manifold  sounds, 
which  can  be  heard  only  because  all  is  so  still,  is 
rest  and  delight. 

My  eye  does  not  behold  merely  the  beauty  of  the  tall 
trees,  but  gazes  upon  the  small  things  of  the  ground, 
for  although  the  grass  has  been  mown,  many  a  blue 
harebell  has  escaped  the  scythe,  as  have  also  some 
fme  grasses,  which  are  glistening  like  burnished  bronze 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  fir  trees  standing 
in  the  shade. 

Oh,  the  beauty  of  the  Russian  forest  ;  so  full  of 
mystery,  so  rich  in  vegetation,  in  berries  and  fungi, 
in  flower  and  moss,  so  vast  and  endless,  but  also,  alas  ! 
so  full  of  rotting  tree-trunks,  broken  branches  and  dead 
brushwood,  and  of  wild  undergrowth.  The  Russian 
forest  is  to  me  a  symbol  of  the  Russian  nation,  as  full 
of  potentiality,  of  riches  and  beauty,  but  just  as  wild 
and  crowded,  and  one  longs  for  a  master-forester  to 
come  who  will  turn  the  wilderness  of  a  primaeval 
forest  into  a  beautiful  park,  like  the  one  I  am  in  at 
present.  For,  after  all,  this  park  is  merely  a  forest, 
judiciously  and  purposefully  cleared.  The  dead 
branches,  the  fallen  trunks,  the  dead  brushwood, 
all  are  cleared  away,  but  there  is  nothing  artificial 
about  it — just  Russian  nature,  pure  and  unmitigated, 
but  liberated  from  encumbrances  and  from  all  that 
chokes  life.  That  is  just  what  the  nation  also  requires 
— liberty  to  develop,  the  chance  for  every  individual 
to  grow  to  fulness  and  maturity. 


SOME  TRAVELLING   EXPERIENCES.        129 

Russian  forests  are  as  different  from  German 
forests  as  nature  is  from  artifice.  In  spite  of  the  beauty 
of  individual  trees,  German  forests  irritate  one  by  their 
regularity  of  line,  by  their  rigid  symmetry.  There 
is  no  fear  of  this  ever  happening  in  Russian  forests. 
Even  if  order  were  to  come  to  them  in  the  way  of 
judicious  forestry,  they  would  still  retain  the  charm  of 
spontaneity  and  the  mystery  of  unexplored  thickets. 
Indeed,  the  park  of  Levashovo  is  a  symbol  of  what 
the  development  of  Russian  life  should  be. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Some  Travelling  Experiences. 

No  greater  contrast  can  be  imagined  than  that  between 
English  and  Russian  railway  stations.  Here  in  England 
people  just  pass  through,  but  there  in  my  Homeland 
people  seem  at  present  to  be  almost  living  on  the 
stations.  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  refugees,  many  of 
whom  have  had  to  spend  weeks  and  even  months  there 
— I  mean  just  the  ordinary  traveller. 

We  had  come  to  the  Nicolai  Station  in  Petrograd, 
intending  to  buy  a  ticket  for  the  next  day.  I  had 
been  told  at  the  Central  Bureau  on  the  Nevsky  that 
all  the  tickets  they  had  to  dispose  of  had  been  sold 
out,  neither  had  the  International  Sleeping  Car  Com- 
pany any  left.    Our  last  chance  was  to  go  to  the  railway 


130  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

station  itself.  A  long  queue  of  people  was  standing 
before  the  booking-office  window.  I  took  my  place, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  crowd  behind  me  had 
greatly  increased. 

"  Have  you  booked  your  ticket  in  advance  ?  "  I 
was  asked  by  the  man  who  stood  in  front  of  me,  "  as 
otherwise  it  is  perfectly  useless  your  standing  here." 

I  stepped  out  of  the  queue,  and  went  up  to  a  police- 
man. "  What  should  I  do  in  order  to  get  a  ticket  ?  " 
I  enquired. 

"  Go  upstairs  to  the  Military  Commandant,  perhaps 
he  may  be  able  to  oblige  you." 

We  soon  found  the  room  of  this  omnipotent  official, 
and  my  cousin,  who  is  always  exceedingly  polite, 
told  him  in  his  most  suave  manner  that  I  had  come  from 
England,  that  I  was  travelling  on  a  special  mission, 
and  that  it  was  quite  imperative  for  me  to  start  the 
next  day. 

A  lady  from  England  !  The  Commandant  became 
all  smiles.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  can  give  her  a  place  on  an 
officer's  ticket.  Pray  come  to-morrow  and  just  ask 
for  it  as  usual  at  the  booking-office." 

The  Anglo-Russian  Alliance  had  procured  me  a  seat 
— the  best  there  was  left,  but  what  a  best  !  The  next 
day  I  received  the  promised  ticket — second  class. 
I  found  myself  crushed  in,  one  of  six  in  a  compartment  ; 
there  were  three  rows  of  beds  on  each  side,  one  above 
the  other. 

The  idea  of  having  to  spend  a  night  with  five  men, 
women  and  children  in  an  ordinary  small  compartment 
with  closed  windows,  and  that  in  June,  was  too  much 
for  me.  Having  walked  along  the  passage,  I  found  an 
empty  seat  in  a  first  class  compartment,  where  I  sat 


SOME   TRAVELLING  EXPERIENCES.        131 

down,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  conductor.  That 
official  proved  very  sympathetic,  and  suggested  that 
if  only  I  would  sit  in  my  second  class  compartment 
until  the  inspector  had  passed,  I  was  quite  free  to  occupy 
the  first  class  seat  without  paying  the  difference. 
Evidently  it  was  a  good  tip  he  was  hoping  for.  I 
probably  disappointed  him  by  expressing  my  intention 
of  remaining  in  the  first  class  seat,  and  paying  the 
difference  immediately.  This  seemed  to  him  a 
senseless  waste  of  money. 

My  travelling  companion  explained  to  me  the  system 
of  the  "  Platzkart,"  and  said  that  ours  was  a  supple- 
mentary carriage,  which  had  been  added  owing  to  the 
crush,  and  so  the  Platzkart  system  did  not  apply, 
otherwise  there  would  be  only  four  people  travelling  in 
a  second  class  compartment. 

"  Why  do  they  still  use  this  German  word  ?  "  I 
wondered ;  "  surely  the  Russian  word  for  sleeping 
place  would  be  much  more  to  the  point  ?  " 

I  had  been  warned  in  Petrograd  that  it  was  difficult 
to  secure  sleeping  car  accommodation  in  Moscow ; 
I  tried  my  luck,  but  it  seemed  almost  hopeless.  A 
friend,  however,  promised  to  do  his  best  for  me. 

On  arrival  at  the  station,  his  servant  handed  me  the 
precious  Platzkart.  "  It  cost  five  roubles  to  put  your 
name  down  for  the  '  Platzkart,'  "  he  said.  Imagine 
having  to  pay  ten  shillings  for  the  mere  chance  of 
getting  a  ticket  !  "  Never  mind,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"  at  least  I  have  secured  a  place,  and  a  lower  one  into 
the  bargain." 

Disappointment  awaited  me,  for  the  conductor 
informed  me  that  the  lower  place  had  also  been  sold 
to  a  gentleman. 


132 


REAL  RUSSIANS. 


What  was  I  to  do  ?  The  stationmaster  suggested 
waiting  for  another  train,  but  fortunately  the  gentle- 
man turned  out  to  be  amiable,  and  willing  to  let  me  have 
the  place  I  coveted.  Such  things  as  ladies'  compart- 
ments are  a  rare  luxury  under  war  conditions  in  Russia. 
You  are  nowadays  grateful  to  get  a  seat  at  all,  and 
many  people  have  to  stand  through  the  whole  night, 
and  I  have  even  known  of  cases  where  people  travelled 
on  the  roofs  of  railway  carriages,  and  had  been  grateful 
for  that. 

Evidently  the  railway  companies  argue  in  the  same 
way  as  did  the  conductor  on  the  Finnish  railway, 
who  replied  to  my  acquaintance's  complaint  of  lack 
of  accommodation,  "  There  is  sufficient  accommoda- 
tion, but  there  are  too  many  passengers." 

At  times  there  are  even  passengers  who  travel 
without  tickets,  "  hares "  they  are  called,  and  one 
day,  returning  from  the  dining-car  to  my  carriage, 
I  came  across  some  individuals  of  this  curious  species 
— three  soldiers  standing  close  together  in  the  little 
corridor. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  into  the  compartment  and 
sit  dovv'n  ?  "  I  remarked.  They  cast  an  enquiring  glance 
at  me,  as  if  to  take  my  measure,  and  evidently  satis- 
fied with  what  they  found,  gave  me  a  knowing  wink, 
and  whispered  : 

"  We  have  no  right  at  all  in  this  train.  We  are 
hoping  not  to  be  seen  by  the  conductor.  We  have 
received  a  few  days'  leave,  and  our  town  is  not  far  from 
here,  but  the  slow  train  by  which  we  soldiers  ought 
to  travel  starts  many  hours  later,  and  takes  a  much 
longer  time  on  the  journey." 

"  If  the  conductor  catches  you,   call   me   and   I'll 


SOME  TRAVELLING  EXPERIENCES.         133 

make  it  all  right  for  you,"  I  said,  but  evidently  he 
proved  to  be  human,  for  my  purse  was  not  called  upon 
to  overcome  legal  restrictions. 

At  one  station  I  had  to  wait  three  hours  for  my 
train.  I  spent  them  in  watching  the  people  who 
were  waiting  in  the  waiting-rooms — waiting  indeed. 
Never  before  had  I  been  so  conscious  of  the  infinite 
capacity  for  waiting  there  is  in  the  Russian  people, 
until  I  had  to  spend  hours  and  hours  at  railway 
stations.  Human  life  in  all  its  phases,  war  with 
all  its  sorrows,  these  I  found  in  the  waiting-rooms. 
In  those  of  the  first  class  were  always  crowds  of 
officers,  who  passed  through  them  or  sat  at  the  long 
tables  drinking  tea.  There,  too,  sat  whole  families, 
evidently  uprooted  by  the  war.  One  mother  especially 
attracted  my  attention  and  excited  my  sympathy. 
Her  face  bore  an  expression  of  utterly  hopeless  weari- 
ness. Beside  her  was  an  equally  weary  lad  of  about 
fourteen,  and  as  he  leant  against  his  mother's  shoulder, 
both  with  eyes  shut,  they  could  have  sat  as  models 
for  a  picture  called  "  Hopelessness."  It  was  unendur- 
able to  see  her  thus,  and  sitting  down  beside  her,  I 
said  a  few  words  of  sympathy. 

No  wonder  she  looked  so  hopeless.  The  family  were 
refugees  from  Poland.  For  a  year  they  had  lived  in 
Mogilev,  where  the  mother  had  found  occupation  as 
secretary  to  the  Polish  Relief  Committee,  thereby  pro- 
viding an  income  for  the  family.  Suddenly,  however, 
the  order  had  come  for  them  to  remove  to  Tambov, 
and  the  reason  for  this  "  injustice,"  as  she  rightly 
called  it,  was  that  the  parents  were  unable  to  tell  of 
the  whereabouts  of  the  eldest  boy,  who  had  run  away 
when  a  lad  of  fourteen,  and  from  whom  they  had  had 


134  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

no  news  for  the  last  four  years.  The  second  son  had 
just  been  taken  into  the  army.  "  The  Government 
is  quite  wiUing  to  take  him  away  from  us  into  the  army, 
but  they  drive  us  out,  as  if  it  were  our  guilt  that  our 
eldest  cannot  be  found." 

I  watched  the  family  as  they  left  the  waiting-room, 
father,  mother,  three  sons  and  a  girl,  each  carrying 
heavy  bundles,  and  following  the  porter  who  had 
shouldered  a  big  basket — all  the  goods  they  possessed. 
The  mother  turned  to  me  and  said  : 

"  This  is  how  we  have  to  go,  and  we  have  no  income, 
no  money,  and  no  prospect  of  earning  any." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  despair  in  that 
woman's  face. 

All  the  people  in  the  first  and  second  class  seemed 
to  me  a  grey  mass  of  tired  people  ;  so  I  walked  into 
the  third  class  waiting-room,  which  I  found  everywhere 
intensely  interesting.  There  are  the  soldiers,  our  brave 
men.  There  are  the  soldatki,  the  soldiers'  wives,  either 
going  to  see  their  husbands  or  coming  away  from 
them.  There  are  peasants  and  labourers  travelling  in 
search  of  work,  whole  family  groups  sitting  on  the 
floor,  perfectly  content,  and  evidently  absolutely 
indifferent  to  dirt  and  dust. 

There  on  the  ground,  turned  on  her  side,  I  saw  a 
young  peasant  woman,  lying  sound  asleep — her  baby 
crawling  over  her,  tmnbling  down,  creeping  up  again, 
only  to  slip  back.  She  slept  on,  oblivious  of  the  fact 
that  on  a  bench  close  to  her,  her  two  older  children, 
dots  of  three  and  four,  were  doing  their  best  to  break 
their  necks  by  hanging  head  downwards. 

It  struck  me  many  a  time  when  watching  these 
third    class    railway    waiting-rooms,    how    perfectly 


SOME  TRAVELLING  EXPERIENCES.         135 

wonderful  childhood  is  in  its  utter  unconsciousness  of 
its  surrounding.  The  little  Russian  children  would 
toddle  among  the  soldiers  squatted  on  the  floor,  quite 
lively  and  happy — although  the  grown-ups  seemed 
so  serious,  and  many  sad.  War,  this  war,  is  leaving 
its  mark  on  them  all,  but  the  children,  they  coo 
and  laugh,  and  call  forth  smiles  by  their  quaint 
antics. 

Oh,  the  crowds  in  the  Russian  railway  stations, 
and  the  endless  queues  of  people  waiting  to  buy  their 
tickets  !  I  have  seen  them  squat  on  the  ground,  for 
human  legs  cannot  endure  such  hours  and  hours  of 
standing,  and  perhaps  by  the  time  it  is  the  turn  for  the 
last  persons  to  come  up,  the  train  has  already  left. 
I  never  saw  any  disorder,  nobody  seemed  to  try  to  get 
the  better  of  his  neighbour,  and  the  gendarmes  are 
there  more  in  the  capacity  of  walking  enquiry  bureaux 
than  to  keep  order.  It  is  the  war  which  causes  this 
congested  traffic — soldiers  everywhere,  wives  and 
sweethearts  travelling  to  see  their  dear  ones. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  face  of  one  particular  woman, 
she  looked  so  white,  so  weary  and  unutterably  sad. 
My  sister  and  I  had  been  speaking  in  English,  when 
suddenly  turning  to  us,  she  remarked  : 

"  I  am  English,  only  I  do  not  speak  the  language. 
Still,  it  makes  me  happy  to  hear  the  language  my 
parents  used."  She  told  us  her  story.  Born  in 
Russia  of  English  parents,  she  had  married  a  Russian. 
She  had  never  been  to  England,  though  all  her 
people  were  now  there,  and  two  of  her  brothers  were 
serving  in  the  British  army.  She  had  been  informed 
by  telegram  that  her  husband  was  seriously  wounded, 
and  she  was  now  on  her  way  to  the  Bukovina. 


136  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  I  shall  not  find  him  alive."  She 
reiterated  these  words  in  hopeless  monotony. 

"  Why  don't  you  wire  to  enquire  ?  "  we  asked. 

"  It's  no  use.  Telegrams  take  such  a  long  time  to 
go.    No,  I  had  better  go  on  and  find  out." 

We  were  sorry  for  her,  for  she  seemed  like  somebody 
without  roots — an  Englishwoman  who  did  not  even 
speak  the  language  of  her  own  people,  and  who  frankly 
admitted  feeling  out  of  sjonpathy  with  the  milieu 
into  which  she  had  married. 

"  Some  day  I  want  to  visit  England,"  she  said  with 
a  feeble  smile.  "  I  am  told  that  life  there  is  very 
happy." 

"  It  is  very  comfortable,"  I  replied. 

On  another  occasion  my  vis-a-vis  was  a  very  intelligent 
young  woman,  who  began  talking  to  me  about  what  her 
heart  was  full  of,  namely,  education. 

"  It  is  the  first  time,  I  think,  that  education  has  had 
a  chance  in  Russia,"  she  said.  "  Count  Ignatiev, 
the  new  Minister  of  Education,  is  the  best  man  we 
have  ever  had." 

"  What  about  the  hosts  of  officials  under  him  ?  " 
I  remarked.  "  Have  they  not  carried  out  the  re- 
actionary policy  of  his  predecessors  for  so  many 
years  ?  " 

"  They  will  soon  change  their  tune,  and  do  as  he 
wishes,"  she  replied.  "  Imagine  what  a  wonderful 
thing  for  Russia  to  have  teachers'  and  parents' 
conferences  !  We  teachers  feel  so  happy,  elated  and 
hopeful.  There  is  much  which  wants  altering  in  our 
educational  system,  but  I  trust  we  shall  never  copy 
German  methods.  You  are,  of  course,  aware  that  I, 
like    other   students    of    education,"  she  went  on  to 


SOME  TRAVELLING  EXPERIENCES.        137 

say,  "  have  studied  German  books  and  have  read 
German  educational  journals,  but  when  I  saw  the 
real  article  in  Germany,  and  the  deadening  influence 
these  ideas  have  on  the  pupils,  I  said,  '  God  save 
us  !  '  " 

It  was  very  interesting  to  hear  her  speak,  and  if 
Russia  has  many  such  keen  teachers  there  is  a  chance 
for  the  future  generation  to  be  better  educated.  The 
weakness  of  the  Russian  system  lies  in  the  fact  that 
while  Russians  have  received  mental  culture,  real 
character  building  has  been  neglected.  The  new  ideal 
of  the  Russian  teachers  is  a  blending  of  learning  and 
discipline. 

I  remarked  to  this  eager  young  woman  on  the  dis- 
comfort of  travelling,  many  people  having  to  stand 
close  to  us.  "  Yes,  is  it  not  awful  ?  You  see,  it  is 
holiday  time,  and  one  goes  to  see  one's  friends  and 
relations.  All  Russia  is  on  the  move,"  she  said, 
laughing.  And  I  think  she  is  right,  and  this  in  more 
than  one  sense. 

There  is  a  movement  in  the  nation,  a  stirring  in  the 
air,  it  is  as  though  life  were  awakening  after  a  long 
winter  frost.  Like  a  storm  the  war  is  sweeping  over 
the  land,  but  in  spite  of  all  its  horrors  it  is  coming  as 
a  liberator,  just  as  the  spring  storms  which  break  the 
ice.  For  Russia,  too,  the  spring  is  coming.  The 
spring  storm  may  break  and  uproot  many  an  old 
tree,  but  the  young  ones  will  shoot  up  all  the  stronger 
and  better,  for  there  will  be  a  greater  chance  for  them 
to  develop  their  latent  strength — to  grow,  blossom 
and  bring  forth  fruit. 


138  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

Delight  to  the  Eyes. 

One  morning,  quite  early,  standing  at  the  open  window 
of  the  corridor,  our  train  gliding  along  smoothly 
through  endless  fields  of  ripened  corn,  I  was 
enjoying  the  quiet  expansive  beauty  of  the  land- 
scape. Before  me,  spread  out  like  a  rich  Persian 
carpet — as  soft  in  colour,  and  looking  almost  as 
soft  in  texture — lay  spacious  fields  of  creamy-pink 
buckwheat,  intersected  by  large  squares  and  patches 
of  golden  corn.  Suddenly,  my  glance  was  arrested 
by  a  flash  of  light  at  one  point  of  the  picture — the 
rays  of  the  sun  had  caught  the  steel  blade  of  a  scythe. 
There,  all  unconscious  that  he  supplied  the  vital  part 
of  a  glorious  panorama,  walking  through  the  corn 
was  a  peasant,  carrying  over  his  shoulder  his  scythe, 
from  which  sparkled  and  radiated  light. 

What  a  symbol  of  Russia's  wealth,  her  corn  and 
her  man-power. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Kiev. 

Late  one  Sunday  night  I  received  a  telegram  with  the 
welcome  news  that  the  Empress  Dowager  would  receive 
me  in  Kiev.  So  great,  however,  was  the  overcrowding 
that  the  first  possible  chance  for  securing  a  "  sleeper  " 


KIEV.  139 

was  on  Thursday.  I  telegraphed  to  the  Lady-in- Waiting 
that  owing  to  the  impossibiHty  of  taking  an  eariier 
train  I  would  arrive  on  Saturday  morning. 

Kiev  !  Mother  of  Russian  cities !  At  last  I  was  to  see 
with  my  own  eyes  this  ancient  and  famous  historic 
town,  about  which  I  had  read  and  written  so  much 
—Kiev  !  where  Askold  and  Dir,  the  bold  Vikings,  had 
settled,  till  Oleg  the  Wise  took  it  from  them  by  guile. 
From  Kiev,  Oleg  had  gone  down  to  Byzantium  to 
conquer  the  proud  Queen  of  the  Bosphorus,  and  from 
Kiev  Olga  had  held  sway  over  the  Russian  lands.  It 
was  in  this  city  that  Vladimir,  "  Fair  Sun,"  held  his 
court,  and  here  he  was  joined  by  the  bold  knights 
of  his  round  table.  Around  this  merry,  generous  prince, 
with  Kiev  as  his  seat,  cycles  of  heroic  legend  have  been 
woven.  To  Kiev  came  Christianity,  with  all  the  pomp 
and  glamour  of  Byzantium,  and  during  the  reign  of 
Yaroslav  the  Wise,  to  Kiev  had  flocked  foreign  visitors 
— princes,  warriors  and  merchants. 

I  looked,  and  there  was  Kiev  standing  out  against 
the  blue  background  of  a  cloudless  sky.  Spellbound,  I 
gazed  upon  the  beautiful  panorama  displayed  before 
my  eyes. 

There,  high  on  the  steep  banks  of  the  River  Dnieper, 
rising  out  of  luscious  verdure  of  trees,  cupolas  of 
churches  sparkled  with  gold  and  shone  radiant  in  colour. 
Far  below  the  city  the  broad  river  flowed  along,  and 
in  the  foreground  of  this  exquisite  ensemble  of  colour 
and  form,  quiet  pools  showed  themselves  here  and  there, 
their  surface  thick  with  water-lilies,  like  big  stars 
fallen  from  the  sky. 


140  REAL   RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

In  Kiev  and  Mogilev. 

A  FEW  minutes  after  arriving  at  the  Palace  I  was 
received  by  the  Empress  Dowager.  Her  Majesty 
had  already  sent  down  three  times  to  enquire  whether 
I  had  arrived,  so  I  had  to  go  into  her  presence  just 
as  I  was — in  hat  and  travelling  dress. 

She  listened  with  the  greatest  sympathy  to  all  I 
had  to  say,  and  I  spoke  with  perfect  confidence  and  trust, 
for  Her  Majesty  had  helped  me  twice  before  in  matters 
concerning  exiles.  In  this  instance  she  promised  to 
do  her  best  to  enable  me  to  see  her  son.  There  was 
one  difficulty,  however,  which  she  pointed  out  regret- 
fully, namely  :  that  the  Emperor  had  made  it  a  rule 
not  to  receive  lady  visitors  at  headquarters.  Never- 
theless, she  spontaneously  offered  to  write  a  letter 
to  him,  which  I  was  to  deliver  by  hand. 

I  also  reported  to  her  the  plight  of  the  brave  men 
who  had  escaped  from  captivity  in  Germany  and 
described  the  utter  lack  of  organisation  which  prevailed. 
The  same  side  of  it  struck  her  as  had  struck  me  when 
I  heard  the  men  vent  their  grievances,  namely,  that 
it  was  a  positive  danger  to  the  State. 

I  think  it  was  here,  in  the  Palace  of  Kiev,  that  I 
heard  the  most  pronounced  anti-German  sentiments. 
No  one  could  accuse  the  entourage  of  the  Empress 
Dowager  of  pro-German  sympathies. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  I  arrived 
at  the  railway  station  of   Mogilev  ;     the  town  itself 


IN   KIEV  AND  MOGILEV.  141 

was  some  three  miles  distant.  I  handed  to  the  Com- 
mandant in  charge  of  the  railway  station  a  slip  of  paper 
from  the  Secretary  of  the  Empress  Dowager  requesting 
him  to  render  me  every  assistance.  The  perplexity 
of  the  official  was  most  amusing  to  witness.  Here 
was  something  quite  unforeseen — a  lady— a  British 
subject — who  produces  a  letter  addressed  merely  to 
"  His  Majesty,"  and  calmly  asks  him  to  ring  up  and 
ask  for  a  motor  to  be  sent  for  her  to  take  her  to  the 
Emperor's  quarters. 

Obediently,  the  Commandant  rang  up  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  and  was  told  in  reply  that  everyone  was 
out,  but  that  the  message  would  be  passed  on. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  Chamberlain  appeared  in  person 
to  see  me.  His  face  was  a  study — here  was  a  case 
for  which  there  was  no  precedent.  The  Prince  was 
evidently  very  anxious  to  please  the  Empress  Dowager 
through  me,  but — and  there  was  a  very  big  but — 
"  His  Majesty  does  not  receive  ladies  at  headquarters." 

Finally,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  entrust  him  with  the 
letter,  adding,  "  If  you  will  tell  me  everything  you  wish 
to  lay  before  His"Majesty,  I  promise  faithfully  to  deliver 
your  message  and  to  see  that  you  get  a  reply.  You 
can  go  on  now  to  Petrograd  and  from  there  send  a 
written  statement  direct  to  the  Emperor." 

The  Prince  was  in  a  dire  dilemma,  but  I  solved  the 
difficulty  by  not  persisting  in  my  demand  for  a  personal 
interview,  for  I  honoured  the  principle.  "  But  I  do  hope 
that  all  his  gentlemen  are  acting  on  the  same  principle," 
I  added  somewhat  maliciously. 

"  I  will  write  the  letter  here,"  I  continued,  "  and 
I  ask  you  kindly  to  hand  it  and  the  illuminated  text 
to  His  Majesty."     This  he  promised  to  do. 


142  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

The  Prince  expressed  great  regret  at  not  being 
able  to  offer  me  hospitality,  but  invited  me  to  sleep  in 
a  coupe  of  the  sleeping  car  which  stood  in  the  siding, 
and  was  used  by  Ministers  and  other  visitors 
to  headquarters,*  and  which  was  commonly  called 
"  the  staff  car."  Before  the  Chamberlain  left,  he 
instructed  the  Commandant  to  supply  me  with  writing 
materials  and  to  see  that  I  had  all  I  required. 

My  sense  of  humour  was  intensely  tickled,  for  I  am 
sure  that  never  before  had  a  personal  letter  to  the 
Tsar  been  written  with  such  a  bad  pen  and  such  terrible 
ink,  and  on  the  official  paper  of  the  station.  There, 
in  the  little  office  I  sat,  and,  after  asking  God  for 
guidance,  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  man  who  wielded 
such  power.  I  did  not  mince  matters  ;  I  told  him 
that  he  had  power  and  that  according  to  Holy  Scripture, 
"  the  decisive  word  is  on  the  lips  of  the  Tsar  "  (the 
word  used  for  "  King  "  in  the  Russian  translation).  I 
also  quoted  General  Khabaloff's  statement  :  "  The 
Emperor's  word  is  law."  I  told  him  of  the  illuminated 
text  which  I  had  prepared  for  him — a  selection  of  texts 
on  the  ruler's  power,  on  the  suffering  of  the  exiles, 
who  were  like  the  people  mentioned  in  Isaiah  59,  verses 
8  and  14,  and  those  words  in  Proverbs,  "  If  a  man's 
way  pleases  the  Lord  he  maketh  even  his  enemies 
to  be  at  peace  with  him  " — "  God  cannot  bless  Russia 
while  unrighteousness  flourishes,"  I  wrote,  and  con- 
cluded with  the  bold  advice  :  "  You  have  power,  use 
it,  and  you  will  be  blessed  and  beloved." 

*Hotels  in  Mo'jjilcv  were  not  very  nice  to  stay  in.  "  You  could 
not  possibly  travel  in  a  sleeping  car  after  having  slept  in  one  of  the 
hotels,"  the  man  in  charge  of  the  "  staff  car  "  told  me  afterwards. 


IN    KIEV  AND   MOGILEV. 


143 


:l 


OTOKM    BOA'b, 


enzuie 


^^tt^r 


BT>  pyKt  EbcnoAa. 


•  •  ♦ 


UapCKiM  THteX  BtCTHMK'b    CMepTH^ 

^g=— «^     '    -I'  '■  I    I     ^'-S 

Mil    OOKHAaCMT)  CBtTa,  HO  BOTT)    TbMa; 

iMCM-b  ciaHia.  ho  xdahmtj  bo  MpaKt;*< 
OoKHAacMi  npaBoeyAifl,  h  Htri  ero, 
cnaceHifl.  ho  oho  aaJieKO  ot-b  HacT>j 

I  I        ■  I  liM- -l-ll-l —  ■■  I  -.    .1       ■  I  r-Trsjy^ 


2^ 


iT>  ycTaxi)  ippfl 


G«/ioBO  ptmnTe;ibHoe, 


m^TAoe^miie 


n 


>KM3Hb,  *^^*•^*■+♦^♦^  *nt^A 


Mn^ocep^ieMT)  h  upaB^oto  OHMma- 

Kor^a  TocnoAy  yroAHH  nyrn 
Me-iOB-feKa,  Ohtj  npwMHpfleT'b  cb 
HHi*rB  ^aJKe  BparoB'b  ero^^^^ev- 


^  FocKOAtf     HanpaB^HH 
cepAue   I^ap^i ' 


144  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

Verbal  Translation  of  the  Illuminated  Text. 
(In  the  Russian  Bible  the  word  "  King  "  is  always  given  as  "  Tsar.") 

Rivers  of  water  and  the  lieart  of  the  Tsar  are  in  the  hand  of  God. — 

Proverbs  xxi.,  ver.   i. 
The  Tsar's  wrath  is  the  messenger  of  death. — Proverbs  xvi.,  ver.  14. 
We  wait  for  light  but  behold  obscurity,  for  brightness,  but  we  walk 

in  darkness.  .  . 
We  look  for  judgment  but  there  is  none,  for  salvation  but  it  is  far 

from  us. — Isaiah  lix.,  ver.  g  and  11. 
In  the  lips  of  the  Tsar  is  the  decisive  word. — Proverbs  xvi.,  ver.  10. 
The  bright  face  of  the  Tsar  is  life. — Proverbs  xvi.,  ver.  15. 
By  Mercy  and  truth  iniquity  is  purged. — Proverbs  xvi.,  ver.  6. 
When  a  man's  ways  please  the  Lord  he  maketh  even  his  enemies 

to  be  at  peace  with  him. — Proverbs  xvi.,  ver.  7. 
Lord  direct  Thou  the  heart  of  the  Tsar. 

This  letter  and  the  illuminated  text  I  sent,  as 
arranged,  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain  by  special 
messenger. 

Next  morning,  on  thinking  over  some  questions 
which  the  Prince  had  put  to  me  concerning  my  Russian 
antecedents,  I  deemed  it  advisable  to  give  him  certain 
references  and  to  send  him  at  the  same  time  all  the 
letters  I  had  brought  with  me  from  representative 
Englishmen. 

The  forenoon  I  spent  watching  the  coming  and  going 
at  the  railway  station,  and  it  was  here  that  I  saw  the 
smartest  specimens  of  the  Russian  Army,  besides  many 
representatives  of  the  Allied  Powers. 

The  man  in  charge  of  the  sleeping  car  was  friendly 
and  communicative.  "  It  is  hardly  credible  what  is 
going  on  at  present,"  he  remarked,  shaking  his  head 
thoughtfully.  "  Take,  for  example,  not  very  far  from 
here  is  a  field  in  which  a  thousand  head  of  cattle  have 
been   buried.      They    had    been    bought    up   by    the 


IN   KIEV   AND  MOGILEV.  145 

Government,  and  a  contractor  received  75  kopeks  per 
head  to  feed  and  keep  them,  but  he  starved  the  poor 
beasts,  and  put  the  money  into  his  own  pocket.  Some- 
how things  leaked  out,  and  officials  came  to  enquire 
into  matters,  but,  of  course,  then  everything  appeared 
in  good  order,  fodder  was  plentiful.  As  soon,  however, 
as  the  Commission  left  all  was  as  bad  as  before.  Will 
you  believe  me,  lady,  everyone  of  those  thousand 
cattle  has  died,  and  to  think  that  we  are  short  of  meat." 

We  discussed  all  sorts  of  subjects — the  man  proved 
to  be  well  read  and  one  who  had  thought  out  things 
for  himself. 

"  I  do  not  believe  priests  are  any  good,"  he  said  in 
the  course  of  conversation,  "  for  if  they  were,  they  would 
not  want  money  for  everything.  '  Pay  so  many 
roubles  they  say,  or  I  will  not  bury  your  child.'  Or, 
take  another  point,"  he  said,  looking  at  me  with  a  very 
serious  expression,  "  why  do  our  priests  keep  silent 
about  all  the  things  which  are  being  done  ? — let  them 
speak  out." 

Later  in  the  day,  as  I  was  reading  in  my  unique 
hotel,  I  was  startled  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  I  jumped 
up  at  once  to  open  it.  There  stood  the  Assistant 
Commandant  of  the  Station  and  beside  him  a  gentle- 
man who,  with  a  polite  bow,  handed  me  a  letter. 

"  From  His  Majesty,"  he  said  simply.  "  Are  you 
satisfied  ?  "  he  then  asked  me  smiling,  and  if  I  looked 
as  happy  as  I  felt,  I  must  indeed  have  looked  very 
satisfied. 

I  glanced  at  the  address. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  for  this  letter  contains  an  answer 
to  my  letter,"  and  so  it  proved.  "  I  will  help,"  were 
the  Emperor's  own   words. 


146  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

The  courtier  seemed  to  enjoy  his  role  of  messenger, 
and  for  a  few  moments  we  chatted  pleasantly  together. 
He  urged  me  to  ask  for  an  audience  with  the  Empress  : 
"  You  have  merely  to  show  this  letter,  which  bears 
not  only  His  Majesty's  handwriting,  but  also  his 
personal  seal,"  he  said,  "  and  every  door  will  be  open 
to  you." 

I  had,  however,  no  desire  whatever  to  see  the 
Empress,  about  whom  I  had  heard  much  that  did  not 
make  me  anxious  to  meet  her.  Besides,  there  was  no 
need  to  do  so  as  I  had  achieved  my  aim.  Still,  as  the 
court  official  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  try  and  see  her, 
I  decided  to  do  so  in  order  to  solicit  her  help  for  the 
escaped  prisoners  of  war.  The  men  had  told  me  that 
they  had  expected  to  be  reviewed  by  the  Tsar  himself, 
and  the  utter  neglect  which  had  been  meted  out  to  them 
had  wounded  them  deeply.  Here  was  a  chance  for  the 
Empress  to  bring  joy  to  her  subjects. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

At  Tsarskoe  Selo. 

In  accordance  with  the  advice  received  I  got  out  of 
the  train  at  Tsarskoe  Selo.  The  only  vehicle  at  the 
station  was  a  ramshackle  drosky  in  charge  of  a  mere 
child,  whom  I  asked  to  drive  me  to  the  Palace.  Off 
we  went.     On  reaching  the  gates  we  were   stopped 


AT  TSARSKOE  SELO.  147 

by  the  guard  on  duty.  Now  was  the  moment  to  pro- 
duce the  letter  bearing  the  Emperor's  handwriting 
and  seal.  It  acted  like  magic.  The  guard  rang  up 
the  Lady-in-Waiting  for  whom  I  had  enquired,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  the  great  gates  swung  open  and  the 
shabby  drosky  drove  into  the  beautiful  grounds  of  the 
Palace. 

In  order  to  reach  that  part  of  the  building  where 
the  Lady-in-Waiting  had  her  suite  of  rooms,  we  had 
to  pass  the  principal  entrance.  There,  talking  to  a 
soldier,  stood  one  of  the  Empress's  Heyduks  in  his 
fantastic  livery.     On  arrival  I  was  met  by  a  footman 

who  led  m.e  to  the  private  apartments  of  who 

greeted  me  very  graciously.  I  told  her  the  object 
of  my  journey.  Suddenly,  however,  she  drew  herself 
up  and  said  with  a  tone  of  finality  in  her  voice  : 

"  Her  Majesty  never  interferes  in  politics,  and  will 
therefore  be  unable  to  help  you  with  regard  to  the 
amnesty." 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  His  Majesty  the  Emperor 
is  already  fully  informed  on  the  subject,  so  there  is 
really  no  need  to  trouble  Her  Majesty  at  all  in  this 
matter,"  I  replied.  "  There  is,  however,  something 
else  I  have  at  heart  that  I  would  like  to  interest 
her  in  ;  it  concerns  the  fate  of  the  soldiers  who  have 
escaped  from  captivity  in  Germany."  Then  I  put  the 
whole  case  briefly  before  her. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be  possible  for  Her  Majesty 
to  review  these  men  ?  "  I  asked.  "  The  King  of 
England  has  done  so,  and  it  is  most  desirable  that 
some  member  of  the  Imperial  House,  here  in  Russia, 
should  do  the  same." 

I  mentioned  it  to  the  Lady-in-Waiting  that  I  was 


148  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

expecting  to  be  sent  for  to  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg 
in  connection  with  the  same  question.  "  Who  advised 
you  to  go  to  him  ?  "  she  asked.  I  gave  her  the  desired 
information,  and  then  shyly  told  her  that  it  had  been 
suggested  to  me  that  I  ought  to  have  presented  a 
copy  of  my  book,  "  A  Thousand  Years  of  Russian 
History,"  to  the  Empress.  "  His  Majesty  graciously 
accepted  one  some  months  ago,"  I  said,  "  but  the  reason 
for  my  not  sending  one  to  Her  Majesty  is  that  I  did 
not  wish  to  flood  the  Imperial  household  with  my 
own  work.  Now,  however,  I  have  brought  a  copy  with 
me.  As  I  had  not  taken  one  with  me.  Professor  Miliu- 
koff,  to  whom  I  gave  it  in  London,  has  kindly  given 
me  his  copy.  I  hope  Her  Majesty  will  therefore 
excuse  the  fact  that  there  is  the  wrong  date  on  the 
flyleaf." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  she  will,"  said  the  Lady-in- Waiting, 
taking  the  book  out  of  my  hand  with  evident  interest. 
"  May  I  give  it  to  her  to-day  when  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied,  adding :  "Do  you  think 
there  is  any  chance  of  Her  Majesty  seeing  me  to- 
day ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  for  quite  apart  from  her  hospital 
work,  Her  Majesty  is  fully  booked  up  for  the  next  few 
days.  How  much  longer  are  you  staying  in  Petro- 
grad  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Only  three  more  days,  although,  of  course,  I  could 
postpone  my  journey,"  I  answered.  Then,  as  though 
a  sudden  thought  had  struck  her,  she  said  with  a  touch 
of  antagonism  : 

"  You  have  not  by  any  chance  asked  the  Empress 
Mother  to  take  the  escaped  prisoners  of  war  under 
her  protection  ?  " 


AT  TSARS KOE  SELO.  149 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  did  tell  her  all  about  them, 
but  what  I  asked  her  to  do  was  merely  to  open  up  the 
way  for  me  to  the  Emperor," 

This  seemed  to  reassure  her,  and  the  momentary 
stiffness  vanished.  We  then  went  on  to  talk  about 
a  mutual  acquaintance.  Every  now  and  then  during 
our  conversation  my  eyes  had  rested  longingly  on  a 
crystal  bowl  on  a  silver  stand  filled  with  the  most 
tempting  sweets.  It  was  indeed  tantalising  not  to 
have  a  taste  of  one. 

As  I  stepped  into  the  drosky  the  stately  footman 
good-humouredly  chaffed  my  coachman. 

"  WTiat  a  little  cock  thou  art,"  he  said ;  "  so  young 
and  already  an  izvoshtchik  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not  an  izvoshtchik,"  retorted  the  child 
with  a  toss  of  his  head.  "  I  had  only  come  to  the 
station  to  fetch  a  relation,  but  as  she  didn't  turn  up 
I  gave  this  lady  a  lift." 

In  spite  of  this  independent  attitude  the  boy  accepted 
with  alacrity  the  full  fare  of  an  izvoshtchik. 

On  my  return  home  I  related  my  experiences  to 
a  cousin,  and  ended  up  by  saying  :  "  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  have  no  desire  whatever  to  see  the  young 
Empress."  This  struck  my  cousin  as  very  foolish.  "  I 
cannot  respect  her,"  I  objected  ;  "  I  am  as  glad  to  bend 
before  those  whom  I  love  and  respect  as  I  am  unwilling 
to  do  so  to  her — my  back  is  too  straight  for  that  sort 
of  thing,"  I  added. 

"  You  are  very  unjust,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  the  Empress 
is  ill  and  her  mind  is  unbalanced.  You  should  have 
compassion  on  her.  As  to  her  relations  with 
Rasputin,  those  are  due  to  her  love  for  her  son." 

I  shook  my  head,  for  I  had  heard  too  much  about 


150  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

this  miserable  affair  from  people  who  had  every  reason 
to  know  what  they  were  talking  about. 

Two  days  later  I  received  a  very  amiable  letter  from 
the  Lady-in- Wailing,  in  which  no  mention  whatever 
was  made  of  an  audience.  It  conveyed  to  me  Her 
Majesty's  thanks  for  the  book,  and  the  assurance 
that  the  Empress  was  much  interested  in  the  escaped 
prisoners  of  war  and  had  taken  up  my  suggestion. 

I  was  very  pleased,  for  I  had  what  I  desired — I  did 
not  see  the  Empress,  and  yet  my  proteges  became 
her  charge. 

I  was  told  later  that  the  fact  of  my  having  been 
received  in  Kiev  was  sufficient  reason  for  not  being 
granted  the  audience  in  Tsarskoe  Selo. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

A  Joyful  Surprise. 

Immediately  on  my  return  from  that  exceedingly 
interesting  journey  to  Kiev  and  headquarters,  so 
full  of  unique  experiences,  I  rang  up  Mr.  Stepanoff's 
Secretary,  to  find  out  when  I  could  see  the  Minister. 
The  next  day  at  ii  o'clock  I  entered  his  waiting- 
room,  and  found  there  a  pompous-looking  Jew, 
evidently  also  awaiting  an  audience.  Never  before 
had  I  seen  on  any  hands,  either  of  man  or  woman, 
diamonds  to  equal  his  in  quantity  and  quality.     The 


A  JOYFUL  SURPRISE.  151 

sight  of  the  diamonds  hurt  me.    "  Here  is  a  speculator 
who  has  got  rich  since  the  war,"  I  said  to  myself. 

The  young  Secretary  came  in  and  invited  me  into 
his  room  for  a  chat. 

"  The  matter  you  are  keen  on  has  been  looked  into, 
and  quite  a  lot  of  work  has  been  done,"  he  said. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  I  told  him  of  my 
idea  to  organise  in  England  an  exhibition  of  repro- 
ductions of  Russian  pictures  in  aid  of  the  Russian 
prisoners  of  war  in  Germany*  ;  and  that  I  would  be 
grateful  if  he  would  help  me  to  secure  some  of  the  big 
War  Loan  posters  which  I  saw  everywhere  on  the  walls, 
but  which  were  not  for  sale,  as  they  were  issued  by  the 
Imperial  Bank.  "  I  will  ask  my  chief  to  help  you. 
I  am  sure  he  will  do  all  he  can  to  secure  them  for  you," 
he  said,  encouragingly. 

This  time  a  very  different  reception  was  accorded 
to  me  by  the  great  man.  He  actually  met  me  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"  I  have  prepared  the  list  of  exiles  for  you,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  a  bundle  of  papers  in  blue  covers,  "  and 
I  find  that  we  can  liberate  120  out  of  the  670.  The 
Minister  of  the  Interior,  Mr.  Khvostoff,  says  that  he 
can  do  so  in  his  own  responsibility,  so  there  is  no  need 
whatever  to  trouble  His  Majesty  about  it." 

I  rejoiced  at  his  news,  but  was  surprised  and  distressed 
at  this  proof  of  the  autocratic  power  wielded  by  a 
Minister. 

Mr.  Stepanoff  then  proceeded  to  show  me  the  list  of 
exiles,    which    was    tabulated    according    to   locality, 

*As  a  result  of  these  Exhibitions,  held  in  London  at  King's 
College  and  the  Mansion  House,  also  at  Glasgow,  Edinburgh,  and 
Portsmouth,  a  sum  of  over  ^1,000  was  realised  within  a  few 
months. 


152  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

date,  period  of  banishment,  and  date  of  liberation, 
and  also  cause  of  exile.  1  was  surprised  to  find  the 
word  "  spy  "*  so  frequently,  and  in  one  case  I  actually 
read  "  Agent-Provocateur." 

"  I  thought  an  Agent-Provocateur  was  employed  by 
the  Police — why,  then,  is  this  one  punished  ?  "  I  asked 
in  astonishment. 

The  Minister  smiled  :  "  Many  a  man  hopes  that  by 
becoming  an  Agent-Provocateur  he  will  receive  reward 
and  promotion — which,  of  course,  happens  if  he 
succeeds  ;  but  if  it  becomes  known  that  he  is  one, 
he  is  taken  and  punished."! 

The  Minister  checked  off  the  names  of  those  exiles 
whom  he  had  marked  for  liberation. 

"  Who  are  the  men  you  are  liberating  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mostly  workmen  who  had  been  banished  for  belong- 
ing to  workmen's  associations,"  he  answered.  Then 
in  reply  to  my  question  as  to  the  system  according  to 
which  people  are  being  banished  by  administrative 
order,  he  told  me  that  if  there  were  suspicions,  but 
not  sufficient  proof  for  handing  the  case  over  to  a 
Court,  the  suspects  were  banished  by  administrative 
order  !  I  asked  him  how  many  administrative  exiles 
there  were  in  the  different  Provinces.  Nowhere  a  large 
number  in  one  place,  it  appeared. 

"  Some  of  these  men  have  finished  their  term  this 
autumn,"  I  said,  pointing  to  certain  names  on  the 
list.     "Will  you  not  include  these  in  the  amnesty?  " 

*It  was  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  late  Goveriiinent  to  mix  such 
undesirables  amongst  the  Political  Exiles  in  order  to  discredit  the 
latter. 

•fHow  contrary  to  truth  this  statement  was  is  seen  by  the  lists 
of  names  of  Agent-Provocateurs  published  since  the  Revolution 
in  Russian  newspapers  ;  lists  found  in  the  Police  archives,  etc. 


ao3 


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w 

H 

o 

z 

o 


A  JOYFUL  SURPRISE.  153 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  for  their  time  in  any  case  is 
soon  over."  In  my  heart  I  reckoned  this  to  him  for 
righteousness  as,  had  he  included  these  among  the  list, 
he  might  have  fictitiously  swelled  the  nimiber  of  men 
set  free. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  he  said  suddenly. 
"  It  will  hasten  matters,  and  at  the  same  time  give 
you  joy.  I  will  send  the  order  for  the  release  of  the 
exiles  in  Siberia  by  telegram  to  the  Governors  con- 
cerned." 

This,  indeed,  was  a  very  generous  extra.  "  Will 
you  ring  me  up  to  tell  me  when  the  wire  has  been 
despatched  ?"  I  asked.  This  he  promised  to  do.  How 
my  heart  rejoiced  !  I  felt  overcome  at  the  thought 
of  what  this  telegram  would  mean  for  the  exiles  and 
for  their  friends.  I  think  my  cousin  thought  me  off 
my  head  when  I  returned — I  danced  for  joy  ! 

A  great  surprise  awaited  me  that  evening.  I  was 
rung  up  on  the  telephone  and  informed  that  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior,  Mr.  Khvostoff,  was  sending  me 
a  letter  to  the  effect  that  in  consequence  of  our  con- 
versation he  was  releasing  120  men.  And  this  was 
the  man  who,  as  Minister  of  Justice,  had  categorically 
refused  to  do  anything  to  help. 

"  May  I  publish  this  letter  in  England  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  only  the  Minister  begs  that  you 
will  not  publish  the  letter  in  Russia  before  it  has 
appeared  in  the  English  Press." 

"  Then  will  the  Russian  Press  be  permitted  to  reprint 
this  news  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  goes  without  saying,"  was  the  reply. 


154  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

On  the  following  morning  a  messenger  delivered 
to  me  the  following  letter : — 

[Copy.] 

The  Minister  of  the  Interior. 

Dear  Madam, 

Following  on  our  personal  discussion,  I  have 
the  honour  to  inform  you  that  to  alleviate  the  fate 
of  administrative  exiles  sent  by  order  of  the 
Imperial  Police  to  distant  Governments  of  Asiatic 
and  European  Russia,  I  have,  after  careful  review 
of  their  cases,  made  arrangement  for  the  liberation 
of  120  persons  of  certain  categories  from  exile 
and  police  supervision.  As  regards  those  exiles 
who  are  in  Siberia,  this  order  has  been  communi- 
cated by  telegraph  to  the  Governors  concerned. 
Further  cases  are  being  considered. 

Accept,  dear  Madam,  the  assurance  of  my 
sincere  esteem  and  devotion. 

(Signed)     A.  Khvostoff. 
To  Mrs.  Howe, 
22nd  July,  1916. 
3rd  August. 

This  took  my  breath  away,  for  it  promised  a  further 
revision  and  held  out  the  prospect  that  more  men 
would  be  set  free.  However,  there  was  one  thing  about 
this  letter  which  made  me  feel  shy  and  uncomfortable. 
I  had  gone  to  Russia  in  a  perfectly  private  capacity — 
merely  as  a  voice — and  here  is  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior  writing  me  an  official  letter  for  publication. 
Besides,  I  realised  that  the  British  public  would  find  it 


VERIFIED    FACTS.  155 

difficult  to  understand  how  it  came  about  that  a 
Minister,  and  not  the  Tsar,  was  liberating  exiles. 

Next  day  I  met  one  of  the  other  Ministers,  to  whom  I 
told  the  good  news,  and  also  that  Mr.  Makaroff,  the 
Minister  of  Justice,  had  informed  me  that  before  the 
proposal  for  a  general  amnesty  could  be  put  before  the 
Emperor,  the  Council  of  Ministers  would  have  to  pass 
it. 

"  Will  you  help  me  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  My  dear  lady,  rest  assured  there  will  be  no 
difficulty  from  that  quarter.  We  are  all  in  favour  of 
it,  and  what  the  Council  of  Ministers  lays  before  His 
Majesty,  the  Emperor  will  sign  !  " 

His  words  naturally  made  me  very  happy — but 
what  a  light  they  shed  upon  the  ruler  ! 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Verified  Facts. 

The  day  after  my  return  from  the  South,  I  went  again 
to  the  cynical  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Petrograd 
district  in  order  to  find  out  what  his  Staff  Officer  had 
reported.  The  amiable,  and  infinitely  patient  officer  in 
attendance  immediately  admitted  me  to  General 
Khabaloff,  who  greeted  me  with  an  exceedingly  serious 
look  on  his  face. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  I  said,  "  I  have  merely  come  to 
ask  you — Did  I  tell  you  a  fairy  tale  or  did  I  not  ?  " 


156  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

.  "  No,"  he  answered  quietly,  "  you  did  not  ;  but 
everything  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end.  .  .  . 
You  see — the  Commissariat  .  .  .  war-time  .  .  . 
everything  cannot  be  done  at  once  ..." 

"  I  quite  understand,"  I  said ;  "  anyhow,  thank  you 
for  receiving  me,  and  for  having  sent  someone  to  make 
enquiries.  Meanwhile  I  have  put  the  whole  matter 
before  His  Majesty,  and  have  asked  him,  as  you 
suggested,  graciously  to  pass  a  new  law  on  behalf  of 
the  men  who  have  escaped  from  captivity  in  Germany, 
so  that  they  may  be  given  all  they  require." 

"  The  Emperor  can  do  anything,"  he  said  sarcas- 
tically. "  If  he  says  that  summer  is  winter,  then  it  is 
winter ;  and  if  he  says  winter  is  summer,  then  it 
is  so." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be  so  sarcastic,"  I  interposed, 
annoyed  by  his  gratuitous  and  meaningless  sneer  at 
his  Sovereign.    Then  I  rose  to  go. 

"  To-morrow  I  am  to  have  an  audience  with  the 
Prince  of  Oldenburg,  with  regard  to  my  proteges," 
I  said,  as  we  shook  hands. 

I  wondered  what  his  thoughts  were  when  I  left  him 
— he  quite  realised  that  I  was  not  merely  blufhng. 
I  think  my  coolness  took  his  breath  away  for  the 
moment. 


A  GRAND  OLD  MAN.  157 

CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

A  Grand  Old  Man. 

"  His  Imperial  Highness  will  be  very  pleased  to  receive 
you  in  audience,  if  the  matter  you  wish  to  bring  before 
him  concerns  the  wounded,  or  comes  in  any  way  within 
the  sphere  of  the  Sanitary  Department,  and  if  this 
is  the  case  will  you  please  ring  up  the  Palace  to  say 
that  you  are  coming,  and  the  car  will  meet  you  at  the 
station  ?  " 

Thus  read  the  telephone  message  which  I  found 
on  my  return  from  the  interview  with  General 
Khabaloff. 

Now  by  no  stretch  of  imagination  could  prisoners 
of  war  escaped  from  German  captivity  be  made  to 
answer  the  description  of  wounded  men,  and  yet  I 
felt,  seeing  the  state  they  were  in,  that  my  dear 
proteges  ought  somehow  or  other  to  come  in  under 
that  department  over  which  Prince  Alexander  of  Olden- 
burg presides.  I  rang  up  the  General  who  had  sent 
the  message  :  "  Yes,"  he  said  in  answer  to  my 
query,  "  these  were  the  exact  words  of  His  Imperial 
Highness." 

What  was  I  to  do  ?  To  force  myself  under  false 
pretences  upon  this  warm-hearted  but  very  busy  man 
was  impossible. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  I  pleaded,  "  will  you  for  a 
moment  forget  that  you  are  a  General  and  the  Secre- 
tary of  His  Imperial  Highness  and  just  tell  me  what 
you  would  do  in  such  a  case  ?  " 


158  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

Such  a  pleasant,  amused  laugh  came  through  the 
telephone  :  "  You  have  asked  me  a  ticklish  question. 
Have  you  any  time  to  spare  ?  " 

"  Any  amount,"   I  replied. 

"  Then  go  down  to  Stara-Petergof  and  tell  the 
Adjutant  on  duty  all  about  the  matter  you  wish  to  bring 
before  the  Prince.  He  will  decide  whether  it  belongs 
to  His  Imperial  Highness's  Department  or  not." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  very  pleased  with  this  sugges- 
tion. 

The  next  day,  after  one  hour's  railway  journey,  I 
reached  Stara-Petergof — or  Old  Peterhof.  The  pro- 
mised car,  however,  was  not  there  to  meet  me,  the 
only  vehicle  standing  outside  the  station  being  a 
private  carriage  with  two  horses. 

"  Have  you  been  sent  by  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg  ?  " 
I  asked  the  coachman,  but  his  reply  was  in  the  nega- 
tive. I  looked  about  me  in  perplexity,  for  the  distance 
was  too  great  for  me  to  walk — especially  as  I  was 
not  at  all  well  at  the  time.  The  stately  coachman, 
seeing  the  predicament  I  was  in,  bent  down  to  me  and 
said  :  "I  am  driving  past  the  house — get  in  and  I 
will  take  you  there."  An  invitation  which  I  gladly 
accepted. 

In  a  beautiful  park  stands  the  summer  residence  of 
the  Prince  Alexander  Petrovitch  of  Oldenburg.  It 
looks  like  an  ordinary  old  English  country  house. 
There  was  an  atmosphere  of  simplicity  about  the  whole 
place — obviously  the  abode  of  a  man  who  works. 
His  young  Adjutant  listened  attentively  to  my  report 
and  then  said  impulsively  :  "  Of  course,  His  Imperial 
Highness  must  hear  about  this  ;  please  take  a  seat, 
while  I  go  and  announce  you." 


^  ^  ;'  '■ 


^:^ 


H.I.H.  Prince  Alexander  Petrovitch  of  Oldenburg. 


Face  p.  158. 


A  GRAND   OLD  MAN.  159 

A  few  minutes  later  I  was  ushered  into  the  study, 
and  there  behind  a  writing-table,  strewn  with  papers, 
sat  the  martial  old  Prince.  He  rose  to  greet  me  with 
an  enquiring,  but  kindly  look.  There  were  some 
five  or  six  gentlemen  present — generals,  medical  men 
and  court  officials.  Evidently  I  had  come  into  the 
midst  of  a  Council  Meeting  of  the  Red  Cross. 

Having  been  invited  by  the  Prince  to  make  my  state- 
ment, I  repeated  my  story,  which  by  now  I  could  almost 
have  told  in  my  sleep.  "  What  I  want  especially, 
Your  Imperial  Highness,"  I  ventured  to  say,  "  is 
for  one  of  your  gentlemen  to  come  with  me  to  see 
for  himself  the  conditions  under  which  the  men  who 
have  escaped  from  captivity  are  now  living."  To 
my  intense  satisfaction  the  Prince  immediately  turned 
to  one  of  the  generals  present  and  requested  him  to 
accompany  me  to  the  depot. 

All,  however,  was  to  turn  out  differently. 

I  had  not  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  when  one  of 
the  Gentlemen-in-Waiting  ran  after  me  with  the 
message  that  the  Prince  had  decided  to  come  with  me 
himself.  I  was  delighted — this  was  more  than  I  had 
dared  to  hope  for.  The  amiable  Prince  also  invited 
me  to  stay  to  lunch,  during  which  meal  many  interest- 
ing topics  were  discussed,  and  I  realised  what  a  veritable 
power-house  was  the  brain  of  this  active,  keen  and 
capable  President  of  the  Sanitary  Service. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  mentioned  the  activity  of  the 
Y.M.C.A.  in  France.  "  What  kind  of  Society  is  that  ?  " 
the  Prince  asked  with  evident  interest.  Thereupon 
General  T.  explained  to  him  the  scope  and  aims  of  this 
magnificent  organisation.  We  all  realised  that  the 
Russian   soldiers   would   have  been   much   better   off 


i6o  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

had  the  Y.M.C.A.  had  their  huts  in  Russia,  as  in  the 
other  war  zones.  I  was  pleased  to  find  that  the  General 
knew  and  admired  John  R.  Mott,  this  statesman  among 
Christian  leaders,  whom  he  had  met  when  on  a  visit 
to  Russia. 

A  never-to-be-forgotten  motor  drive  of  one  and 
a  half  hours  followed,  full  of  interest.  I  was  astonished 
at  the  intimate  knowledge  and  grasp  of  detail  which 
the  Prince  displayed  on  practically  every  subject 
mentioned. 

"  I  am  so  disappointed  about  the  action  of  the 
British  Red  Cross,"  the  Prince  suddenly  exclaimed. 
"  I  cannot  understand  why  our  offer  for  British 
officers  to  visit  the  Russian  Spas  has  not  been 
accepted." 

The  Prince  then  told  me  of  the  invitation  to  British 
officers  to  come  to  the  Caucasian  Spas,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  felt  very  sore  that  his  generous  sugges- 
tion had  met  with  such  scant  response.  Anxious  to 
do  something  in  return  for  his  kindness  and  also 
realising  how  beneficial  such  a  sign  of  goodwill  might 
be  for  the  future  relations  between  the  two  countries, 
I  offered  to  do  my  best  to  get  the  invitation  made 
public. 

"  There  is,  however,  one  great  obstacle  to  the 
successful  carrying  out  of  your  scheme,  Imperial 
Highness,"  I  remarked,  "  and  that  is  the  cost  of  the 
journey." 

"  Then  I  will  pay  the  travelling  expenses  of  the  first 
ten  officers  and  the  first  ten  men  from  London,"  he 
replied  impulsively,  "  and  all  the  others  will  have 
free  return  tickets  from  Torneo  to  the  Caucasus,  and  of 
course  all  will  enjoy  our  hospitality  at  the  Spas." 


A  GRAND   OLD  MAN.  i6i 

This  offer  materially  altered  the  situation  and  we 
plunged  into  the  details  of  the  project.  The  Prince 
told  me  of  the  various  diseases  curable  by  the  different 
kinds  of  waters,  and  it  appeared  that  the  British 
visitors  were  to  be  the  guests  of  the  Russian  Sanitary 
Service,  which  meant  free  board  and  lodging,  free 
medical  treatment,  and  the  enjoyment  of  all  the 
privileges  attaching  to  the  Spa. 

I  pointed  out  to  the  warm-hearted  Prince  that  before 
I  could  take  any  steps  in  England  he  must  furnish 
me  with  a  written  authorisation,  and  then  I  would 
do  my  best  to  pass  on  the  invitation.  He  waxed 
quite  eloquent  over  his  plans,  for  he  was  cheered  by 
the  thought  that  after  all  his  pet  scheme  might 
materialise.* 

Among  other  things,  we  also  spoke  about  the  wonder- 
ful effect  of  the  abolition  of  alcohol,  and  we  discussed 
the  best  ways  and  means  of  solving  the  post-bellum 
drink  question — for  that  total  abolition  cannot  be 
carried  on  for  ever  is  plain  to  all.  The  Prince  thought 
that  the  light  wines  grown  in  the  Crimea  might  serve 
as  a  good  substitute.  As  I  sat  beside  the  old  man 
my  eyes  fell  again  and  again  upon  the  beautiful  St. 
George's  Cross  His  Imperial  Highness  wore  on  his  uni- 
form—that of  a  Hussar  Regiment.  At  last  I  ventured 
to  remark  that  his  was  the  most  beautiful  St.  George's 

*In  the  letter  which  the  Prince  wrote  to  me  to  England  the 
following  sentence  appeared  :  "  J'espere  que  le  sejour  en  Russie 
de  nos  freres  d'armes  blesses  servira  k  cimenter  encore  plus  les 
liens  d'amiti6  qui  unissent  nos  deux  pays." 

This  invitation  has  since  been  accepted  by  the  Army  Council 
and  by  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty,  and  we  hope  that  soon  circum- 
stances will  permit  British  officers  to  enjoy  the  hospitality  so  gladly 
and   generously   offered. 


Lbz  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Cross  I  had  seen  on  any  man,  whereupon  he  quite 
simply  remarked  that  this  particular  one  had  been  a 
present. 

His  Adjutant  told  me  afterwards  that  the  Prince 
had  earned  the  St.  George's  Cross  in  the  War  of  1877- 
1878. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

The  Birds  had  Flown. 

We  drove  into  the  grounds  of  the  Recruiting  Dep6t. 
It  was  raining,  and  the  passages  and  stairs  of  the  build- 
ing through  which  we  had  to  pass  were  crowded  with 
recruits  and  their  women-folk.  No  one  recognised 
the  identity  of  the  Prince  as  he  got  out  of  his  car  and 
followed  me  through  the  throng  of  people  into  the 
barracks  in  which  my  men  were  housed.  The  eagle 
glance  of  the  old  man  seemed  to  take  in  every  detail. 
Usually  when  I  had  come  to  visit  my  friends  the  upper 
windows  were  crowded  with  men  looking  out  into  the 
yard.  This  time  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen — the  place 
seemed   deserted. 

"  Where  are  the  men  who  have  escaped  from  captivity 
in  Germany  ?  "  the  Prince  asked  a  soldier. 

"  They  are  no  longer  here.  Your  Excellency." 
"  Your  birds  are  flown,"  he  said,  turning  to  me — 
"  still,   we    shall    go    on    and   see    where    they   have 
been." 


THE  BIRDS   HAD   FLOWN.  163 

The  large  rooms  were  spotlessly  clean,  but  empty. 
Spring-cleaning,  sudden  and  drastic,  had  swept  over 
these  barracks.  We  all  laughed — my  visit  of  yester- 
day to  General  Khabaloff  had  evidently  resulted  in 
this  wholesale  clearance.  I  suppose  he  had  realised 
that  I  meant  to  see  the  thing  through,  and  he  knew 
quite  well  that  once  the  matter  reached  the  ears  of  the 
energetic  Prince  of  Oldenburg,  he  would  send  someone 
to  inquire  into  it — hence  the  spotless  rooms  and  the 
absence  of  all  men  who  might  be  asked  awkward  ques- 
tions. He  had  not,  however,  taken  into  account  the 
thorough  and  energetic  nature  of  the  impulsive  Prince, 
and  the  possibility  of  his  inspecting  the  place  personally 
never  even  occurred  to  the  General. 

After  having  at  last  elicited  the  information  that 
the  men  we  wished  to  see  had  been  taken  to  the 
Kalinkin  Brewery — now  used  as  a  barracks — the 
Prince  said  laconically  :   "  Let  us  drive  there." 

On  our  way  back  to  the  motor  car  we  had  again  to 
pass  through  the  crowd  of  women  and  recruits,  upon 
whom  it  had  begun  to  dawn  that  this  particular  old 
General  must  be  somebody  very  important,  for  the  three 
gentlemen  who  accompanied  him  addressed  him  in 
such  a  deferential  manner.  The  simple  people  gazed 
upon  our  party  with  undisguised  interest. 

Someone  had  gone  off  to  fetch  the  Commandant, 
but  we  were  back  in  the  motor  and  away  before  that 
much  harassed  and  overworked  official  had  time  to 
show  himself. 

We  had  to  drive  a  long  distance,  and  as  the  Prince 
pointed  out  all  the  places  of  interest  along  the  route, 
I  gained  a  great  deal  of  fresh  knowledge  about  the 
various  historic  buildings  we  passed. 


i64  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Outside  the  brewery  stood  a  group  of  soldiers  with 
hang-dog  faces — "  a  bad  lot  "  was  the  Prince's  remark 
• — and  he  proved  to  be  right,  for  they  turned  out  to  be 
deserters  and  other  undesirables  in  uniform.  Again 
the  same  curt  question  : 

"  Where  are  the  men  who  have  escaped  from 
captivity  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  here,   Your  Excellency." 

"  Where  are  they  then  ?  " 

"  In  Ochta,  Your  Excellency." 

"  Your  birds  have  flown  from  here  too.  But  we  shall 
drive  after  them  until  we  find  them,"  remarked  the 
determined  Imperial  Highness,  with  a  laugh. 

Ochta,  however,  is  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  town, 
and  it  took  us  some  time  to  reach  the  barracks  of  the 
Tcherkaski  Regiment,  to  which  we  were  now  directed. 

The  big  gates  swung  open  and  I  received  my  first 
glance  of  a  barracks  in  working  order,  and  not  merely 
a  dumping-ground  for  innumerable  raw  recruits,  as 
the  other  depot  had  been.  'Activity  everywhere — 
some  soldiers  at  drill,  others  carrying  great  hot  loaves 
from  the  bakehouse. 

We  drove  right  into  the  barracks  yard,  for  the 
Prince  had  already  asked  the  indispensable  question, 
and  this  time  the  reply  was  prompt  and  satisfactory. 
We  got  out  of  the  motor  and  walked  into  the  beautifully 
kept  barracks  No.  3,  but  although  it  was  not  here 
that  we  found  our  men  we  at  least  saw  for  ourselves 
how  clean,  tidy  and  comfortable  such  quarters 
could  be. 

Meanwhile  the  young  Adjutant  slipped  away  to  give 
notice  of  the  Prince's  arrival  ;  when,  therefore,  a  few 
minutes  later  we  entered  the  spacious  room  in  which 


THE  BIRDS  HAD  FLOWN.  165 

my  men  had  been  quartered,  they  stood  drawn  up  in 
Hne  beside  their  bunks. 

In  reply  to  the  Prince's  greeting  the  proper  salutation 
wishing  him  good  health  was  given.  Then,  silently, 
His  Imperial  Highness  inspected  the  soldiers,  who, 
in  true  Russian  military  fashion,  followed  him  with 
their  eyes. 

I  walked  beside  him,  giving  an  occasional  glance 
of  recognition  at  one  or  other  of  the  men.  It  was  a 
very  impressive  sight  to  see  three  hundred  and  eighty 
men  standing  there  rigid  at  attention,  while  the  old 
Prince,  amidst  a  dead  silence,  walked  about,  taking  the 
measure  of  each.  It  was  also  intensely  interesting  to 
watch  the  look  of  blank  astonishment  on  the  faces 
qi  the  officers  in  charge  of  the  barracks  who  had 
gathered  round.  After  the  first  round  the  Prince 
started  again — this  time  pointing  at  this  or  that  man, 
asking  :  "  Where  did  you  escape  from  ?  "  "  How 
many  days  did  it  take  you  to  come  over  the 
frontier  ?  " 

An  atmosphere  of  expectancy — eager,  joyful — per- 
vaded the  room.  Looking  around  I  saw  the  two  tidy 
tiers  of  bunks  on  which  the  bedding  was  rolled  up  for 
the  day,  a  Turkish  towel  hanging  at  the  back  of  each 
bunk. 

Silently  and  thoughtfully  the  old  man  descended 
the  staircase,  and  then,  turning  to  the  Adjutant,  he 
commanded  him  to  draw  up  a  report  stating  the 
exceedingly  satisfactory  condition  of  the  barracks ; 
then,  addressing  the  Lieut. -Colonel,  he  asked  him 
several  pointed  questions.  It  appeared  that  these  men 
arrived  at  these  barracks  without  his  having  received 
any  previous  notification.      "  I   have   tried  to  make 


b 


i66  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

them  comfortable,"  he  said,  "  and  they  declare  that 
already  they  feel  different  men." 

Outside  in  the  courtyard,  surrounded  by  the  officers 
and  his  suite,  the  Prince  gave  his  orders — four  hundred 
shirts  were  to  be  sent  down  immediately  from  the 
Red  Cross,  and  all  the  men  were  to  be  taken  to  the 
baths.  I  had  told  him  of  their  being  unable  to  afford 
to  go  to  the  baths  themselves — and  that  on  the  long 
sea  journey  from  France  to  Archangel  they  had  been 
deprived  of  this  necessity  of  life. 

"  Your  Imperial  Highness,"  I  said,  "  please  do  not 
forget  to  arrange  for  the  free  passage  home,  the  overdue 
pay,  and  the  food  money  for  the  journey." 

Imagine  my  astonishment  when  the  Colonel  informed 
us  that  these  men  had  just  as  much  right  to  free  tickets 
and  food  money  as  the  wounded  had.  Truly  surpris- 
ing after  General  Khabaloff's  explicit  declaration  that 
such  a  thing  was  impossible  and  illegal.  I  felt  very 
happy  and  greatly  relieved,  and  I  was  just  going  to 
express  my  gratitude  to  the  Prince  and  bid  him  good- 
bye when  he  most  kindly  suggested  taking  me  home 
in  his  car. 

On  the  way  back  the  Prince  spoke  most  kindly 
and  graciously  to  me,  assuring  me  that  it  was  for  him 
to  be  grateful  to  me,  and  that  I  might  rest  content  in 
the  knowledge  that  I  had  secured  the  happiness  of 
300  men. 

"  Fortunately  it  is  not  only  these  particular  three 
hundred  and  eighty  men  who  will  benefit,  but  the  many 
hundreds  who  are  coming  after  them,"  I  said.  "  The 
best  assurance  that  I  have  really  achieved  something 
for  these  brave  men  is  the  fact  that  Your  Imperial 
Highness  is  taking  them  under  your  wing." 


SOME  MILITARY  HOSPITALS.  167 

When  I  parted  from  the  Prince  I  reaUsed  that  his 
energetic  Imperial  Highness  had  devoted  four  and  a 
half  hours  to  my  business.  It  was  now  4  o'clock, 
and  I  had  been  received  by  him  at  11.30. 

When  I  told  Lady  Georgina  Buchanan  about  the 
Prince's  visit,  she  remarked  regretfully,  "  I  am  sorry 
he  didn't  see  those  rooms  as  we  saw  them."* 

"  There  I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  I  said.  "  I  am 
very  glad  it  came  out  as  it  did,  for  the  Prince  of 
Oldenburg  knows  quite  well  how  dirty  Russian  barracks 
can  be,  but  I  should  never  have  known  that  such 
beautiful,  clean  barracks  existed  in  Russia  as  those 
we  saw  on  our  impromptu  visit  to  Ochta." 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

Some    Military    Hospitals — Good,    Bad    and 
Indifferent. 

Petrograd,  like  other  Russian  towns,  is  at  present 
a  city  of  military  hospitals,  or  lazarets,  and  in  almost 
every  street  I  drove  through,  I  saw  the  big  white  flag 
with  the  Red  Cross  on  it  displayed  outside  some 
private  house  or  public  building.  In  some  instances 
it  was  merely  a  flat  which  had  been  turned  into  a 
lazaret,  in  others,  the  whole  building. 

*One  day  I  had  taken  the  wife  of  the  British  Ambassador  to  see 
the  men,  and  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart  Lady  (xeorgina  presented 
the  whole  lot  with  new  shirts. 


i68  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Beautiful  palaces,  along  the  quay  of  the  Neva,  and 
humble  wooden  houses  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
as  well  as  schools  and  club-houses,  are  being  used  as 
hospitals.  Across  the  wall,  or  just  above  the  entrance 
of  these  houses,  an  inscription  in  big,  bold  letters  is 
displayed,  which  bears  the  name  of  the  person  or 
persons  responsible  for  the  upkeep,  and  the  name  of 
some  Imperial  patron.  On  very  many  of  them  I  read 
that  of  Her  Imperial  Majesty,  the  Empress  Maria 
Feodorovna. 

The  supporters  of  these  makeshift  hospitals,  which 
are,  however,  all  under  the  Russian  Red  Cross, 
belong  to  widely  different  sets  of  people.  Both  in 
Moscow  and  Petrograd,  and  I  presume  they  are  typical 
of  the  other  towns  as  well,  one  reads  on  these  boards  : 
"  This  lazaret  is  supported  by  the  former   pupils  of 

(such  and  such  school),  or  by  the  employees  of 

banks,  insurance  companies,  by  van  drivers,  private 
families,  by  the  parishioners  of  certain  churches,  by 
members  of  different  religious  communities,  and  even 
by  foreigners.  Thus  there  is  the  Anglo-Russian  hos- 
pital, supported  from  Great  Britain,  also  the  Conval- 
escent Home  for  the  Russian  wounded,  provided  for 
by  members  of  the  British  Colony.  There  is  a  lazaret 
maintained  by  the  Japanese,  another  by  Swedes,  and 
so  forth.  Of  course,  all  these  establishments  are  over 
and  above  the  regular  big  military  hospitals,  or  the 
wards  in  general  hospitals  taken  over  by  the  Red 
Cross. 

There  is  also  great  difference  in  the  management 
of  these  seven  hundred  odd  lazarets  and  hospitals, 
among  which  good,  bad  and  indifferent  are  represented. 
There  is  an  enormous  difference  between  the  perfections 


X  ^ 


SOME  MILITARY   HOSPITALS.  169 

of  the  big  Marienski  Hospital,  and  the  flagrant  imper- 
fections of  the  old  Nicolai  Hospital,  an  unrefonned  hos- 
pital of  the  days  of  the  Crimean  War.  Indeed,  so 
midesirable  are  the  conditions  of  the  latter,  that 
fractious  patients  of  other  hospitals  are  threatened 
with  being  sent  there  for  punishment. 

Thus  there  are  beautiful  hospitals,  arranged  accord- 
ing to  the  newest  patterns,  and  provided  with  every 
possible  comfort,  while  others  have  such  a  minimum 
of  bare  necessities  that  it  hurts  one  to  visit 
them,  and  yet  the  soldiers  are  always  grateful  and 
patient. 

I  watched  them  lying  in  their  beds  enduring  great 
suffering  with  fortitude.  I  talked  to  convalescent 
men  as  they  occupied  themselves  with  the  making  of 
various  things  for  sale.  In  one  lazaret,  the  nurse  showed 
me  proudly  the  envelopes  her  patients  had  been 
making ;  in  another  it  was  baskets  which  had 
been  deftly  turned  out.  The  last  time  I  visited  the 
Anglo-Russian  Hospital  I  watched  a  group  of  patients 
making  leather  pocket-books.  Truly  a  strange  work- 
room this,  the  landing  of  the  broad  staircase  in  the 
palace  of  a  Grand  Duke.  The  patients  here  lie  in 
lofty  rooms,  ceilings  and  walls  decorated  with  white 
and  gold. 

It  is  Lady  Muriel  Paget  who  has  so  successfully 
organised  this  hospital,  and  the  British  public 
.  generously  supports  it  on  Russian  flag  days.  The 
big  signboard  displayed  outside  on  the  corner  of  the 
palace  tells  every  passer-by  that  this  hospital  is  a  prac- 
tical expression  of  British  friendship  towards  her 
Russian  Ally.  Indeed,  the  name  Anglo-Russian 
Hospital  is  very  apposite,  for  Russian  soldiers  are  the 


170  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

patients,  while  British  and  Russian  nurses  tend  them. 
British  money  maintains  the  hospital  within  a  Russian 
building,  in  which  British  ideals  of  hospital  life  are 
applied,  and  the  chief  desire  of  the  British  nurses  is  to 
make  their  Russian  patients  comfortable  and  happy. 

A  few  houses  further  along  the  same  street  is  the 
hospital  named  after  King  George,  and  it  is  difficult 
to  imagine  a  greater  contrast  than  between  the  Anglo- 
Russian  Hospital  and  this  lazaret.  It  is  very  poor, 
and  merely  occupies  a  large  flat  of  an  ordinary  house. 
It  lacks  all  the  brightness  of  the  palace,  all  extras 
of  comfort,  but  the  men  are  well  fed  and  well  nursed, 
and  the  charming  Polish  lady  who  superintends  loves 
her  work,  and  she  and  the  other  nurses  are  devoted 
to  their  charges. 

It  was  here  that  I  witnessed  a  touching  scene. 
The  wife  of  the  British  Ambassador  had  kindly  taken 
me  on  a  visit  to  this  hospital,  where  she  was  going  to 
distribute  to  the  soldiers  to  be  discharged,  presents  to 
take  home  to  wife  and  children.  Lady  Georgina  had 
hit  upon  this  practical  method  of  demonstrating 
to  the  people  in  the  villages  British  goodwill. 

Gay-looking  bundles  of  baby-clothes  for  the  married 
men,  and  brightly-coloured  bags  for  the  bachelors, 
had  been  taken  out  of  two  big  sacks  which  we  had 
brought  with  us  in  the  motor.  On  each  bundle  was  a 
slip  of  paper  with  the  name  of  the  wounded  soldier, 
the  number  of  his  children,  and  their  respective  ages. 
The  invalids  who  were  going  home  on  leave  clustered 
around  their  benefactress.  To  each  one  of  these  men 
she  gave  a  present  with  a  kindly  word,  her  face  all 
radiant  with  thankfulness  that  she  was  able  to  make 
easier  the  lot  of  these  brave  and  patient  men. 


SOME  MILITARY   HOSPITALS.  171 

A  few  moments  after  the  distribution  of  these 
tokens  of  thoughtful  care,  I  walked  through  the  wards, 
and  there  saw  men  sitting  on  their  beds  undoing  their 
bundles.  Some  were  surrounded  by  comrades,  all 
eagerly  watching  the  happy  recipient  of  the  useful 
presents  for  wife  and  children,  not  one  of  whom  was 
forgotten.  Here  was  a  Cossack  who  was  proudly 
admiring  a  bright  blouse  which  he  had  received 
for  his  daughter  of  seventeen  ;  there  was  the  happy 
father  of  an  infant  son,  aged  four  months,  whom  he  had 
not  yet  seen,  but  to  whom,  thanks  to  Lady  Georgina's 
kindness,  he  was  going  to  bring  back  a  supply  of 
soft,  warm  baby-clothes.  The  husbands  and  fathers 
also  were  not  overlooked  by  the  generous  donor,  but 
received  the  same  presents  as  the  bachelors.  One  of 
the  latter  showed  me  his  treasures — three  handker- 
chiefs, a  piece  of  soap,  a  packet  of  cigarettes,  some 
sugar  and  tea,  a  pencil,  envelopes,  a  booklet,  and  last, 
but  not  least,  a  good,  solid,  wooden  spoon. 
"  Without  one  of  these  we  should  starve,  for  what 
should  we  eat  our  soup  with  ?  "  remarked  one  of  the 
men,  proudly  brandishing  a  shiny  lacquered  spoon. 

Never  shall  I  forget  this  little  visit  to  King  George's 
Hospital,  and  the  picture  of  the  Lady  Bountiful 
surrounded  by  wounded  Russians  in  hospital  dressing- 
gowns,  their  happy,  expectant  faces,  her  kindly 
glance  as  she  presented  each  man  with  his  gift,  and  the 
grateful  soldier  stooping  and  kissing  the  hand  which 
had  liberally  bestowed  good  things  upon  him.  I 
watched  the  faces  of  the  men  who  lay  in  their  beds, 
and  saw  on  them  a  look  of  hopeful  contentment — 
they  knew  that  in  good  time  their  turn  would  also 
come. 


172  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

Everywhere  on  the  streets  of  the  towns  one  sees 
small  groups  of  wounded  soldiers  walking  about  in 
charge  of  some  Sister,  often  quite  a  young  girl.  The 
men  are  taken  to  museums,  to  the  Zoological  Gardens, 
to  various  places  of  amusement.  In  the  hall  of  one  of 
the  hospitals,  I  observed  a  group  of  wounded  soldiers 
sitting  very  quietly  and  solemnly,  with  serious  faces. 
This  was  especially  surprising,  as  I  had  been  told  of 
the  friendly  and  cheerful  spirit  prevailing  in  this  par- 
ticular hospital.  My  kind  guide  was  utterly  at  a  loss 
to  understand  the  listless  attitude  of  the  men.  Soon 
after,  however,  she  detected  the  reason  for  the  unusual 
behaviour.  The  men  had  asked  for  leave  to  visit  a 
cinema,  and  were  now  waiting  the  verdict  of  the  matron. 
Would  they  be  permitted  to  go  or  not  ? — hence  their 
serious  looks. 

As  to  the  nurses,  all  classes  are  represented  amongst 
them.  In  Tsarskoe  Selo  the  Empress  herself  devotes 
many  hours  a  day  to  the  nursing  of  the  wounded,  and 
many  of  the  Grand  Duchesses  are  doing  real  work, 
not  merely  playing  at  nursing.  Thus  the  unmarried 
sister  of  the  Tsar,  the  Grand  Duchess  Olga,  who  is 
matron  of  her  big  hospital  in  Kiev,  works  so  hard  that 
she  has  hardly  any  time  to  see  her  mother,  the  Empress 
Dowager,  who,  in  order  to  be  near  her  daughter,  spent 
the  summer  in  Kiev.  Then  there  are  the  nurses  of 
humbler  birth,  who  do  their  work  just  as  joyfully 
and  carefully.* 

It  was  quite  a  pleasure  to  me  to  watch  in  tram-cars 
and  in  the  street  the  bright  young  faces  of  these  Sisters 

*Out  of  the  20,000  nurses  17,000  were  honorary.  The  majority 
of  these  are  poor  girls,  but  they  are  satisfied  to  work  for  love. 
Uniform,  travel,  and  lodging  are,  of  course,  supplied.. 


SOME  MILITARY   HOSPITALS.  173 

of  Mercy — ev^eryone  of  whom  wears  a  graceful  white 
veil.  The  difference  in  the  way  that  coif  is  worn  serves 
as  the  distinguishing  mark  of  the  various  societies  ; 
thus  the  Grand  Duchess  Olga  wears  the  costume  of  the 
sisterhood  called  after  St.  Eugenia,  while  the  Empress 
and  her  daughters  wear  that  of  the  Red  Cross. 

Everybody  is  at  work — all  women  seem  to  be  anxious 
to  do  their  share,  though  perhaps  not  all  from  the  same 
motive.  In  Russia,  too,  as  elsewhere,  there  is  a  certain 
glamour  about  nursing  the  wounded  heroes,  and  many 
a  girl  has  more  thought  of  the  man  than  of  the  wounded 
soldier.  I  was  told  on  good  authority  that  when  the  first 
batch  of  voluntary  nurses  arrived  at  the  front  they  were 
inspected  by  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas,  who  asked 
those  ladies  who  desired  to  nurse  officers  to  step  on  one 
side.  Quite  a  number  did  so,  but  to  their  surprise, 
the  Grand  Duke  informed  them  that  he  had  no  use 
for  them,  and  one  and  all  were  sent  back.  The  great 
soldier  had  tested  the  metal,  and  refused  that  which 
was  mixed  with  alloy. 

I  wonder  what  he  would  have  done  with  a  most 
beautiful  titled  lady,  who  frankly  admitted  that  she 
had  joined  the  Red  Cross  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 
She  loves  adventures  and  hairbreadth  escapes,  and  I 
heard  her  relate  how  she  had  made  the  General  occupy- 
ing her  house  lend  her  his  car  and  an  adjutant,  in  order 
to  go  about.  How,  one  day  they  had  driven  close  to 
where  the  shells  were  bursting.  "  I  had  no  right  to  risk 
the  Staff  car,"  she  said,  "  so  I  got  out  and  walked  on, 
when  suddenly  the  adjutant  gripped  me  by  the  arm, 
and  with  a  deadly  white  face  declared  that  not  a 
step  further  would  he  let  me  go." 


174  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

It  struck  me  that  she  evidently  considered  the  car 
of  greater  value  than  the  life  of  the  adjutant. 

"  Well,  I  was  forced  to  return,"  she  added  ;  "  the 
chauffeur  looked  at  me  with  reproving  eyes,  and  asked 
me  this  question,  '  You  have  no  children  ?  '  " 

"  What  does  your  husband  say  to  your  escapades 
in  nurse's  uniform  ?  "  I  asked  this  beautiful  woman, 
whose  laughing  eyes  were  proclaiming  the  knowledge 
of  their  power. 

"  Oh,  he  does  not  know  anything  about  them.  He 
is  occupied  at  another  front.  I  have  seen  a  great  deal." 
She  continued  her  tale,  with  eyes  sparkling  in  memory 
of  her  exploits.  "  Of  course,  I  always  try  to  salve  my 
conscience  by  helping  someone,  and  as  I  drove  about 
so  much  in  the  car  of  the  Staff,  I  have  even  been  able  to 
bring  the  General  information  about  various  villages. 
However,  I  never  witnessed  a  bayonet  charge,"  she 
added  regretfully. 

This  beautiful  lady  is  fortunately  not  typical 
of  her  Russian  sisters,  and  yet  I  can  well  believe  that 
whenever  she  walks  through  a  hospital  ward,  men's 
eyes  will  rest  with  pleasure  and  delight  on  her,  and 
the  laughing,  triumphant  look  in  her  eyes  is  sure  to 
act  as  a  tonic  to  many  a  weary,  wounded  soldier  on 
his  painful  progress  towards  recovery. 


MERELY    A   COSSACK      '  175 


CHAPTER   XLIl. 

Merely  a  Cossack  ! 

He  was  a  tall  Cossack,  with  a  gentle  face  and  almost 
child-like  eyes.  As  he  replied  to  my  question  as  to 
what  his  experiences  in  captivity  had  been,  his  lower 
jaw  trembled.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  to  strain  every 
nerve  in  order  to  prevent  his  facial  muscles  from 
twitching. 

"  We  had  fought  desperately,"  he  said,  "  but  were 
at  last  cut  off  from  the  rest,  and  twenty-five  of  us  and 
one  officer  were  taken  prisoners.  The  Austrians  said 
they  would  shoot  us  all.  You  see,  we  were  Cossacks," 
he  said  in  explanation.  "  One  of  the  Austrian  officers, 
however,  pleaded  for  us,  and  the  General  seemed  to 
get  very  cross  with  him,  but  he  persisted,  and  said  that 
after  all  we  were  soldiers  like  the  others,  and  should 
be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war.  They  think  we  are 
wild  beasts,"  the  young  Cossack  added  quietly. 

"  Well,  at  last  the  General  agreed  to  spare  us,  but 
one  of  the  party  he  said  he  would  shoot."  The  tall 
Cossack  gulped  a  lump  down  his  throat.  "  We 
were  all  put  in  a  row,  and  the  General  walked  up  and 
down  looking  at  us,  choosing  whom  he  would  have  shot. 
Then  he  caught  hold  of  one  of  us  by  the  coat,  and 
dragged  our  comrade,  as  a  dog  would.  They  blind- 
folded hun  and  shot  him  before  our  eyes.  They  treated 
us  very  badly,"  he  added,  shaking  his  head  mournfully, 
"  and  yet  we  were  just  soldiers  !  " 


176  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  could  not  wring  a  chicken's 
neck,"  I  remarked,  struck  by  his  mild  and  gentle 
expression. 

"  I've  cut  many  a  German's  head  off,"  he  replied,  in 
the  same  even  and  gentle  tone. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

In  a  Petrograd  Tram. 

Most  of  the  passengers  in  the  tram  were  soldiers. 
Suddenly  one  of  them  got  up,  shook  hands  with  the  man 
next  to  him  and  kissed  him.  He  did  this  to  five  or 
six  other  men,  and  then  left  the  tram. 

"Is  he   going    off    to    the    front  ?  "   I   asked  the 
man  next  to  me. 

"  No,"   he   replied.     "It  is  we  who  are  going  off  to 
the  positsia  (trenches)  ;  he  came  to  see  us  off." 

It  was  all  so  simple  and  natural,  so  straight  from 
the  heart.  There  was  nothing  sentimental  or  mawkish 
about  it  ;  just  comrades  bidding  farewell,  in  all  pro- 
bability never  to  meet  again.  True,  it  was  not  what 
Englishmen  would  have  done.  A  joke,  a  strong  grip 
of  the  hand  would  have  been  their  way  of  parting  ; 
and  yet,  when  it  comes  to  fighting,  there  is  not  much  to 
choose  between  the  Russian  who  expresses  his  feelings 
by  a  kiss  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  who  smothers  his 
feelings  as  if  ashamed  of  them. 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  RUSSIAN  SOLDIERS.     1/7 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

Impressions  of  Russian  Soldiers. 

It  was  not  in  orderly  rows  on  parade,  nor  in  battle, 
that  I  saw  the  Russian  soldier,  but  either  en  route 
for  the  front  or  back  from  the  trenches.  I  came  across 
him  in  trains  and  tram-cars,  on  stations  and  in  hospitals, 
or  walking  about  in  the  street.  Were  I  a  painter, 
I  would  paint  telling  pictures  of  the  Russian  soldier's 
life — scenes  which  would  reveal  his  nature,  his  patience 
and  endurance,  his  cheerfulness  and  kindliness. 

I  have  watched  many  troop  trains,  which,  by  the  way, 
seem  to  be  composed  of  nothing  but  cattle  trucks  or 
luggage  vans.  Now,  however,  as  many  men  as  possible 
are  put  into  them.  Long  unplaned  boards  form  the 
soldiers'  seats,  and  many  were  sitting  on  these  im- 
promptu benches,  while  others,  with  their  legs  dangling 
down,  sat  in  the  open  door  on  the  floor.  This  is  how  the 
Russian  soldiers  travel. 

At  one  station  where  the  train  had  halted,  the  men 
swarmed  out  on  the  platform  in  order  to  stretch  their 
legs.  What  seemed  to  trouble  them  most  was  thirst. 
One  of  the  soldiers,  pail  in  hand,  approached  the 
gendarmes,  and  asked  to  be  let  out  of  the  station 
to  the  nearest  pump  to  fetch  water.  "  Not  permitted," 
was  the  laconic  reply.  There  were  many  passengers 
standing  about  waiting  for  the  next  train,  but  somehow 
nobody  except  myself  seemed  to  realise  that  here 
was  a  case  of  need.     Stepping  up  to  a  railway  guard, 


lyS  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

I  offered  to  pay  him  for  his  trouble,  if  only  he 
would  be  kind  enough  to  go  and  fill  the  pail  of  the 
soldier. 

The  joy  of  the  thirsty  men  as  he  returned  with  the 
fresh,  cool  water  was  delightful  to  witness.  Encouraged 
by  this  success,  more  pails  were  brought  out  by  other 
soldiers,  and  finally  I  did  the  carrying  of  the  pails  and 
the  guard  did  the  pumping.  The  soldiers  crowded 
around  the  pails,  some  filled  their  bottles,  others  knelt 
down  and  lapped  the  water  up,  and  soon  the  sunburnt 
men  began  to  look  quite  cheerful.  When  the  signal 
was  given  for  starting,  bright  faces  smiled  a  farewell, 
and  the  refreshed  and  contented  men  departed  in  their 
uncomfortable  cattle-trucks. 

There  is,  however,  good  reason  for  not  letting  the  men 
outside  the  station,  for  many  men  have  thereby  been 
separated  from  their  units.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  the 
distress  of  a  young  soldier  to  whom  this  had  happened  ; 
he  was  so  bitterly  unhappy, 

"  I  only  went  out  to  buy  myself  some  food,"  he 
said,  "  and  when  I  returned  the  train  had  gone.  I 
was  trusted.  I  was  sent  in  charge  of  some  guns. 
I  have  the  papers  here  in  my  pocket,  and  now  the 
train  has  gone  and  I  cannot  catch  it  up." 

"  Is  there  no  passenger  train  which  would  enable 
you  to  overtake  it  ?  "  I  said. 

"  No,  there  is  not,"  he  replied  sadly,  "  and  I  wonder 
what  will  now  happen.  To  think  that  they  have  trusted 
me  and  I  have  failed  them  !  " 

I  felt  intensely  sorry  for  him,  especially  as  no  fear 
of  punishment  seemed  to  trouble  him,  but  only  the  fact 
that  he  had  not  lived  up  to  the  trust  placed  in  him  by 
his  officer. 


Wounded  Soldiers  Travelling. 


Face  p.  178. 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  RUSSIAN  SOLDIERS.     179 

On  another  occasion  I  again  watched  a  troop  train 
stop  at  the  station.  In  this  case  also  the  men  wanted 
to  go  out  of  the  station  grounds.  A  very  determined- 
looking  soldier  walked  up  to  the  gendarme  officer, 
and  asked  leave  to  go  into  the  town. 

"  Not  allowed,"  was  the  disappointing  reply. 

"  We  are  sick  of  our  food,"  remarked  the  man. 
"  We  have  been  twenty  days  on  our  journey,  and  we 
want  a  change.  It's  hot  weather,  too,  and  they've 
given  us  bad  meat." 

"  Buy  your  food  at  the  station  canteen,"  suggested 
the  officer. 

Poor  chaps,  there  was  no  leave  granted  them  to  go 
into  the  town,  although  they  declared  they  had  three 
hours  to  spare.  Suddenly,  however,  orders  were 
given  for  the  train  to  start.  All  the  soldiers  could  do 
was  to  quickly  buy  some  bread  and  sausages  at  the 
station  canteens  and  scramble  into  the   trucks. 

One  day  our  train  was  drawn  up  at  the  station,  but 
my  carriage  was  right  outside  the  platform.  On  the 
next  line  stood  a  troop  train,  and  hearing  laughter 
and  the  sound  of  music,  I  quickly  looked  out  of  the 
window.  There  I  beheld  an  old  man  dancing  to  the 
strains  of  an  accordion,  played  by  one  of  the  soldiers, 
many  of  whom  were  standing  in  the  aperture  of  their 
van  ;  others  were  crowding  round  on  the  lines. 

"  His  son  is  among  these  men,"  somebody  remarked 
to  me,  "  and  the  father  wants  to  cheer  him."  Forget- 
ful of  his  own  troubles,  the  peasant  danced  and  danced 
until  he  nearly  collapsed. 

"  Is  he  not  a  fine  old  man  ?  "  a  soldier  called  out, 
"  and  to  think  he  is  nearly  seventy  years  old.  Does 
he  not  dance  wonderfully  well  ?  " 


i8o  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

The  old  man  stopped  at  last,  but  not  before  the 
passengers  in  my  train  had  given  him  a  good  round 
of  applause. 

"  Bravo,  you  did  it  well,"  a  lady  beside  me  called 
out  to  him. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing  special,"  he  said,  looking  down 
just  as  self-conscious  and  pleased  as  a  young 
debutante. 

As  our  train  moved  out  I  had  a  last  glimpse  of  the 
happy  faces  of  the  soldiers,  whose  monotonous  journey 
had  been  interrupted  in  so  pleasant  a  way. 

Another  time  it  was  an  ambulance  train  which 
stood  on  the  line  next  to  ours,  and  those  of  the  wounded 
who  were  well  enough  were  looking  out  of  the  window, 
while  some  were  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  carriages. 
I  had  been  surprised  at  seeing  plants  and  canary  birds 
in  a  cage  in  one  of  the  windows  of  this  hospital  train. 
"  Whose  are  the  birds  ?  "  I  asked  one  of  the  wounded 
soldiers,  who  was  sitting  exactly  opposite  the  window 
of  my  compartment. 

"  Not  ours,"  he  replied.  "  They  belong  to  a  sanitar. 
What  do  we  want  with  birds  !  It  is  rest  and  quiet 
we  need  !  " 

"  I  have  to  pass  on  a  greeting  to  you  all,"  I  said. 
"  An  English  soldier  has  asked  me  to  greet  his  Russian 
comrades-in-arms  from  him." 

"  And  pray,  where  did  you  see  him  ?  "  was  the 
surprised  question. 

"  I  saw  him  in  England,"  I  replied,  "  for  I  have 
come  from  England." 

One  of  the  soldiers  laughed  merrily,  and  pointing 
to  his  comrades,  said  to  me  proudly  :  "  We  also  have 
been  abroad  ;  we  have  been  to  Austria,  but  now,  thanks 


IMPRESSIONS   OF   RUSSIAN   SOLDIERS.      i8i 

to  us,  that  part  has  become  Russian,"  and  just  as  my 
train  moved  out,  he  shouted  : 

"  Greet  our  British  AUies  from  us  !  " 

There  seems  to  be  an  endless  number  of  troop  trains 
moving  along  the  Russian  railway  lines,  and  every 
carriage  is  filled  with  soldiers,  in  shirts  of  a  "protective  " 
colour,  grey-green,  brown-green,  brown,  and  some 
quite  green.  There  is  nothing  smart  about  any  of  them, 
and  on  the  way  back  from  the  front  the  men  look 
unkempt  ;  but  withal  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  confi- 
dence, of  quiet  strength  and  immovable  determination 
about  them,  and  also  one  of  friendly  gentleness.  At 
times  tliese  soldiers  struck  me  like  so  many  boys  going 
off  for  a  holiday. 

I  have  also  seen  those  who  come  back  from  the  front, 
wounded  men  in  hospitals,  or  convalescents,  limping 
along  the  streets  in  the  charge  of  some  pretty  young 
Sister  of  Mercy  or  some  staid,  elderly  matron.  There 
is  always  the  same  gentle  expression  on  the  face  of  the 
men — merely  big  boys,  many  of  them. 

"  They  are  so  serious  and  quiet,  not  merry  like  my 
compatriots,"  remarked  a  French  officer  to  me  of  those 
wounded  men. 

"  They  are  wonderful  chaps,"  I  was  told  by  an 
English  doctor.  "  Their  patience  and  endurance  are 
simply  incredible." 

"  They  are  so  grateful  for  any  little  help,"  said  an 
English  nurse  in  the  Anglo-Russian  Hospital.  "  Please 
do  find  out  whether  they  have  everything  they  wish. 
They  so  seldom  ask  for  anything  on  their  own  account." 

I  went  up  to  the  bed  of  a  young  lad  whose  leg  had 
been  amputated,  and  who  told  me  that  his  toes  ached 
terribly — "  yet  they  aren't  there  at  all,"  he  said  to 


i82  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

me  with  a  puzzled  look.  I  tried  to  explain  to  him 
the  reason  for  this  strange  phenomenon,  and  then  I 
asked  what  kind  of  book  he  would  like  me  to  bring 
him.  With  shining  eyes  he  replied  :  "  I  love  to  read 
about  detectives,"  and  I  soon  found  out  that  Sherlock 
Holmes*  was  his  favourite. 

One  night,  walking  unexpectedly  into  a  hospital 
where  I  had  gone  to  fetch  a  lady,  I  found  my  friends, 
the  wounded,  having  a  fine  time.  The  gramophone 
was  playing  some  dance-music,  and  two  of  the  men, 
holding  up  their  long  dressing-gowns,  were  dancing 
as  best  they  could,  all  the  others  looking  on  with  happy 
faces.  On  seeing  my  friend  and  me  they  suddenly 
stopped,  and  when  urged  to  go  on,  one  of  them  replied 
that  he  would  only  do  so  if  I  would  dance  with  him. 
So,  for  fun,  putting  my  arms  akimbo  and  placing 
myself  opposite  him,  I  just  pretended  that  I  would 
do  it.  Then  we  all  laughed  and  the  impromptu  dance 
came  to  an  end. 

I  have  also  been  with  dying  soldiers,  and  have 
seen  them  suffer  anguish ;  but  invariably  they  thanked 
me  with  grateful  lips  or  eyes  for  a  word  of  blessing. 
They  need  God,  they  know  it,  and  conscious  of  their 
helplessness,  they  trust  in  Him. 

They  are  not  afraid  of  death,  these  men,  but  as 
one  very  young  soldier  said  to  me,  "  Who  wants  to  die 
before   his   time  ?  " 

Once  as  I  watched  a  group  of  soldiers  going  ol^  to 
the  front  I  called  out  to  them  as  the  train  moved  out : 

"  May  you  all  win  the  St.  George's  Cross  !  " 

*Iwas  told  that  translations  of  Jack  London's  books  were  bought 
more  than  those  of  any  other  author.  On  every  railway  bookstall 
I  saw  his   works. 


PETROGRAD'S  CABDRIVERS   OF  TO-DAY.      183 

"Thank  you,"  came  the  reply;  "but  even  if  we 
don't  gain  one  of  the  four  Crosses  of  St.  George,  of 
a  fifth  we  are  sure — the  wooden  cross  on  our 
graves." 

Oh,  these  wooden  crosses,  the  rows  and  rows  of 
them  ! 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

Petrograd's  Cabdrivers  of  To-day. 

Could  one  imagine  a  London  taxi-driver  turning  round 
and  holding  a  conversation  with  his  fare  ?  Hardly  ! 
He  is  too  matter-of-fact  a  man,  and  the  streets  are 
crowded,  and  the  fare  is  a  stranger,  and  the  Londoner 
might  be  surprised  at  being  spoken  to  by  his  driver. 
Not  so  in  Petrograd  or  Moscow. 

Why,  some  of  the  deepest  subjects  are  discussed 
by  the  izvoshtchik  and  his  fare  as  the  horse  runs 
along,  and  his  little  open  carriage  jolts  over  the  cobble- 
stones. He  turns  half  round  and  talks,  and  is  perfectly 
assured  that  what  he  does  is  quite  all  right,  and  so  it 
is. 

It  is  human  being  talking  to  human  being,  and 
after  all,  there  is  not  much  difference  between  a  cab- 
driver  and  a  barin  or  a  baryinia,  for  both  are  souls 
which  God  has  created,  and  both  are  Russians. 

The  last  chat  of  this  kind  I  had  was  with  an  izvosh- 
tchik who  at  first  had  positively  refused  to  drive  me. 


i84  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

for  my  destination  was  not  in  the  direction  he  desired. 
Just  at  present  the  izvoshtchiki  of  Moscow  and  Petro- 
grad  are  having  the  time  of  their  hves.  In  Petrograd, 
there  were  before  the  war  17,000  such  men,  but  the 
army  has  claimed  10,000  of  them  and  their  horses, 
and  the  7,000  who  have  remained  are  mightily 
independent. 

Gone  for  ever  are  the  ten  and  twenty  kopek 
drives,  and  boldly  the  threefold  sum  is  asked,  and  for 
longer  distances  it  is  by  roubles  that  one  has  to  pay. 
True,  there  is  a  card  on  each  drosky  with  the  authorised 
tariff,  but  woe  to  the  fare  who  claims  to  be  driven 
according  to  it.  He  is  simply  not  accepted,  and  if  an 
unhappy  person  bargains  with  an  izvoshtchik,  no  other 
in  that  street  will  give  him  a  lift.  What  can  one  do 
in  those  circumstances  but  jump  into  the  drosky 
and  call  out,  "  Drive  and  I'll  pay  you  well." 

Off  he  starts,  nonplussed  by  this  boldness.  Then 
he  turns  round  and  asks  anxiously  : 

"  Thou  art  not  expecting  me  to  drive  thee  according 
to  the  tax  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not ;  only  please  hurry  up  !  " 

Queer  drivers  I  have  had — some  of  them  lads  of 
fourteen  and  fifteen,  who  have  donned  their  father's 
hats,  which  come  down  deep  over  the  ears,  and  the 
coachman's  habit  hangs  down  in  heavy  folds  around 
the  little  figure.  The  father  has  gone  to  the  war, 
and  the  little  son  is  carrying  on  the  business.  Then 
again,  there  are  old  men,  whose  bent  backs  seem  so 
out  of  place  on  a  coachbox.  But  then,  what  is  there 
to  be  done  ?  "  One  must  live,  you  see,  and  why  not 
as  a  driver  ?  And  as  to  asking  such  a  sum,  surely 
the  lady  knows  how  expensive  fodder  has  become, 


PETROGRAD'S  CABDRIVERS   OF  TO-DAY.      185 

and  how  dear  food  is.  Oh,  no,  two  and  a  half  roubles 
is  really  very  cheap." 

One  day,  when  anxious  to  be  in  time  at  an  important 
interview,  and  bearing  in  mind  how  difficult  it  is  to  find 
an  izvoshtchik,  I  had  taken  the  precaution  of  going 
by  tram  to  a  certain  little  railway  station  where  I  knew 
a  drosky  would  be  sure  to  stand.  My  surmise  was  right, 
but  five  of  the  izvoshtchiki  refused  to  drive  me,  although 
price  had  not  been  mentioned.  It  was  merely  that  they 
intended  to  drive  into  the  centre  of  Petrograd,  and 
my  destination  lay  more  on  the  outskirts.  I  got 
desperate.  Cabinet  Ministers  do  not  like  to  be  kept 
waiting,  and  as  I  saw  no  chance  of  being  taken  willingly 
to  the  island  where  my  appointment  was,  I  had  reluc- 
tantly to  have  recourse  to  the  only  other  means. 

"  Please,"  I  said  to  the  gendarme  at  the  station, 
' '  all  these  izvoshtchiki  refuse  to  drive  me,  and  I  simply 
must  be  in  Yelagin  by  ten  o'clock.  Money  is  of  no 
consequence,  if  only  I  am  taken  there." 

The  representative  of  the  law  stalked  up  to  the 
first  driver,  and  simply  commanded  him  to  drive  me. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  drive  there.     My  horse  ..." 

"  Off  you  go,  no  more  words  !  " 

Then,  turning  to  me,  "  Jump  in,  lady.  Remember, 
I've  taken  your  number,  so  don't  you  give  further 
cause  for  complaint,"  were  his  parting  words  to  the 
izvoshtchik. 

Had  I  wanted  to  drive  behind  a  hearse,  the  pace  we 
drove  along  would  have  been  perfect,  but  relentless 
time  was  passing  and  ten  o'clock  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 

All  my  polite  requests  for  greater  speed  were  ignored, 
my  driver  merely  murmuring  very  audibly,  "  It's  too 
bad  that  a  man  should  be  forced  to  drive  where  he 


i86  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

doesn't  want  to  go.     There's  even  no  choice  left  any 
more." 

"  Brother,"  I  said,  quite  gently,  "  could  thy  horse 
not  run  a  little  faster  ?  Believe  me,  I  am  very  sorry 
to  take  thee  where  thou  dost  not  wish  to  go,  but  I  am 
on  urgent  business." 

"  No,  my  horse  is  tired,  and  who  knows  how  far 
I  may  have  to  drive  ?  " 

He  was  new  to  Petrograd,  and  the  name  of  the 
destination  I  had  mentioned  implied  nothing  to  him. 
We  asked  a  passer-by  how  far  the  island  of  Yelagin 
was.  "  Oh  just  to  the  left,  and  then  to  the  right  and 
across  the  bridge." 

Lost  was  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  to  me.  "  My 
friend,  I  am  not  driving  for  pleasure  or  in  order  to  annoy 
thee,  therefore  do  be  so  good  as  to  stop  grumbling, 
and  whip  thy  horse,  for  the  business  I  am  on  concerns 
the  welfare  of  many  people,  and  surely  thou  dost  not 
wish  to  make  me  lose  my  chance  of  pleading  for 
them." 

At  last  his  ill-humour  left  him,  and  the  horse, 
supposed  to  be  utterly  exhausted  and  unable  to  run, 
made  a  wonderful  effort,  and  I  was  in  time. 

On  the  way  back,  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  of  these 
famous  islands,  the  show  places  of  Petrograd  and 
the  summer  palace  of  the  Empress  Dowager,  began  to 
impress  the  driver,  who  was  for  the  first  time  in  these 
parts.  For,  since  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  and  even  now, 
many  izvoshtchiki  from  occupied  or  evacuated  towns 
flock  into  the  capital. 

"  This  forest  and  these  meadows,  do  they  all  belong 
to  the  Empress  ?  "  he  asked,  and  he  looked  admir- 
ingly at  the  big  white  building  and  the  bright  flower 


PETROGRAD'S  CABDRIVERS  OF  TO-DAY.      187 

gardens.  Then  thoughtfully  shaking  his  head,  he 
remarked  : 

"  Very  beautiful,  indeed — very  beautiful." 

We  passed  many  residences  of  rich  people,  and 
pointmg  to  one  of  them  he  said  pensively,  "  Now, 
how  do  these  rich  people  manage  not  to  lose  them- 
selves in  such  big  houses  ?  " 

Then,  turning  round  to  me,  "  Baryinia,  rich  people 
do  not  believe  in  God.  It  is  the  poor  who  believe 
in  God.  Why  is  it  that  the  rich  do  not  believe  in 
Him  ?  " 

My  answer  evidently  satisfied  him,  but  then  he  added, 
"  Need  and  sorrow  and  want  do  make  one  turn  to  God. 
But  these  rich  people  think  they  can  do  without  Him — 
at  least,  one  never  sees  them  in  church."  Then,  with 
a  fairness  of  mind,  characteristic  of  the  Russian 
peasant,  he  added,  "  Perhaps  they  have  private 
chapels,  and  that's  why  we  don't  see  them.  They 
tell  me  that  the  more  learned  people  get,"  he  said, 
"  the  less  they  believe  in  God — but  one  cannot  do 
without  God,  the  poor  know  that." 

"  Neither  can  the  rich  and  learned,"  said  I,  "  they 
only  think  they  can." 

The  poor  old  driver  and  I  understood  one  another 
perfectly.  I  paid  him  handsomely  after  he  had 
brought  me  to  the  nearest  tram  station.  He  thanked 
me  warmly.  I  left  him  standing  near  to  the  Kamenos- 
trovski  Bridge,  a  place  where  he  could  easily  pick 
up  another  fare.  As  I  passed  him  in  the  tram,  he  smiled 
at  me,  nodding  his  head  in  a  friendly  way. 


i88  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

IZVOSHTCHIK   AND    FaRE. 

One  day  as  I  drove  past  the  Memorial  Church  of 
Alexander  II.  which  stands  over  the  spot  where  he  was 
killed,  my  driver  turned  half  round  and  remarked  : 
"  A  very  beautiful  church,  very  beautiful,  but  not 
one  to  pray  in." 

Perhaps  he  is  right,  for  the  church  is  just  one  blaze 
of  colour  and  glorious  mosaic  pictures,  but  it  lacks 
the  atmosphere  needed  for  devotion. 

"  God  rest  the  soul  of  that  good  man,  the  Emperor," 
he  said  ;  "  he  died  for  us." 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  good  man,"  I  replied,  and  then 
I  added  :  "  I  knew  him  personally  when  I  was  a  child, 
and  he  was  always  so  kind  to  us  children." 

"  I,  too,  knew  him,"  said  my  izvoshtchik  eagerly. 
"  I,  also,  loved  him,  and  he  was  kind  to  me." 

"  It  is  a  nice  coincidence  that  we  both  knew  him," 
I  remarked.     "  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  served  in  the  Regiment."     (He  mentioned 

some  crack  Guard  Corps,  the  name  of  which  I  have 
forgotten).  "  We  stood  in  Pavlovsk  and  many  a  time 
when  the  Emperor  went  shooting  I  had  to  accompany 
him,  and  whenever  he  had  a  successful  day  he  gave  me 
money,  and  also  commanded  that  a  big  glass  of  vodka 
be  given  me.     Yes,  he  was  indeed  a  very  kind  man." 

When  I  paid  my  izvoshtchik,  we  parted  good  friends, 
for  had  we  not  both  loved  the  same  man — I  when  a 
little  girl  and  he  when  a  soldier  ? 


IZVOSHTCHIK  AND   FARE.  189 

It  seemed  one  evening  as  though  I  should  have  to 
spend  the  night  in  my  friend's  house  on  the  Islands, 
for  no  izvoshtchik  could  be  found  anywhere  near, 
and  I  was  too  unwell  to  walk.  The  servant  had  been 
scouring  the  neighbourhood  and  twice  returned  with 
the  news  that  there  were  none  about.  I  suggested 
his  walking  as  far  as  the  tram — some  twenty  minutes' 
walk — and  going  by  tram  until  he  came  across  one  of 
those  white  ravens — an  izvoshtchik.  At  last  he  re- 
turned with  one.  "  He  wants  two  roubles,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Two  roubles  !  "  I  said,  "for  a  seven  minutes' 
drive  ?  " 

However,  I  had  no  choice,  and  as  I  stepped  into  the 
drosky,  I  heard  a  gentleman  who  had  been  my  fellow- 
visitor  speak  very  angrily  to  my  driver. 

"  Thou  rascal,  thou  knowest  that  thou  hast  no 
right  to  fix  a  price  in  advance,  and  such  a  price,  too. 
Two  roubles,  indeed  !  I  have  taken  thy  number  and 
will  denounce  thee  to  the  Gradonatchalnik,  and  thou 
wilt  soon  hear  more  about  it." 

The  izvoshtchik  looked  frightened,  cowed,  and  we 
had  hardly  driven  out  of  the  gates  when  he  turned 
round  to  me.  "  Baryinia,  have  mercy  on  me,"  he 
said,  "  if  that  gentleman  denounces  me  I  shall  be  fined 
fifty  roubles,  or  get  three  weeks'  imprisonment.  Do 
have  pity  on  me  and  plead  with  the  barin  for  me. 
I  will  drive  thee  any  distance,  only  do  prevent  the 
barin  from  carrying  out  his  threat." 

"  It  was  foolish  of  thee  to  ask  two  roubles  when 
thou  knowest  the  law,"  I  remarked,  "  still  I  will  do  my 
best." 


190  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

He  drew  up,  I  stepped  out,  and  going  up  to  Mr.  X., 
who  was  walking  on  the  path,  I  said  :  "I  ask  you 
earnestly  not  to  carry  out  your  threat.  The  man 
will  drive  me  two  roubles'  worth  of  distance." 

"  You  don't  know  these  rascals  as  well  as  I  do,"  he 
growled ;  "  don't  trouble  yourself  about  him.  All 
izvoshtchiki  know  the  law,  and  yet  act  like  this. 
Two  roubles,  and  that  for  such  a  little  way  !  " 

"  He  was  fetched  from  a  distance,"  I  interposed. 
"  Honestly,  I  should  feel  ever  so  much  happier  if  you 
would  ignore  this  matter." 

"  No,  I  won't !  "  replied  the  irate  bureaucrat. 

As  I  got  back  into  the  drosky  I  told  the  man  of  my 
futile  effort.  He  looked  desperately  unhappy  and 
seemed  to  shrivel  up  and  sink  into  his  coachman's 
habit. 

"  Barinka,  imagine  what  it  means  to  pay  a  fifty 
rouble  fine,  or  if  I  go  to  prison  I  have  to  lose  my 
work." 

I  was  genuinely  sorry  for  the  poor  sinner,  and  finally 
hit  upon  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  "  Well,  drive 
me  as  far  as  the  Bolshoi  Prospect,  and  if  cited  before 
the  Gradonatchalnik,  call  upon  me  as  a  witness  that  you 
had  driven  me  thus  far  and  that  therefore  two  roubles 
were  not  too  much." 

When  we  reached  our  destination  and  I  got  out, 
he  looked  at  me  with  pleading  eyes  and  said  once 
more  :  "  You  will  save  me,  for  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied.  "  You  must  tell  the  police  to 
ask  for  the  anglitchanka*,"  and  I  gave  him  my 
address.  Evidently,  Mr.  X.  had  not  carried  out  his 
threat,  for  I  was  not  cited  before  the  police  to  plead 

♦English  lady. 


IZVOSHTCHIK   AND  FARE.  191 

the  cause  of  the  poor  fellow.  I  hope,  however,  that 
the  fright  he  received  may  restrain  him  for  a  while 
from  asking  exorbitant  prices. 

I  had  felt  much  distressed  by  Mr.  X.'s  manner; 
it  seemed  infra  dig  to  speak  so  crossly  to  an  izvoshtchik, 
but  I  was  soon  to  have  a  worse  exhibition  of  the  fare's 
manner  towards  his  driver.  Indeed,  a  bitter  war  seems 
to  be  going  on  between  the  izvoshtchiki  and  the  public. 
I  realised  that  there  are  faults  on  both  sides  and  that 
the  izvoshtchik  is  not  always  the  sinner. 

My  friend's  motor  had  not  turned  up.  "  That 
is  how  we  are  served  at  present,"  he  said  ;  "  the  in- 
dependence and  impertinence  of  these  chauffeurs  is 
beyond  words  !  I'm  sorry,  we  shall  have  to  go  by 
tram." 

At  the  terminus  on  the  very  outskirts  of  the  town 
we  got  out,  and  as  we  had  a  further  distance  to  go 
we  looked  for  an  izvoshtchik,  but  all  that  we  could  see 
was  one  driverless  drosky. 

"Get  in,"  he  said  to  me,  "  and  I  will  fetch  the 
izvoshtchik."  Close  by  was  a  small  shop,  and  the 
driver  was  seen  talking  to  the  man  behind  the 
counter. 

"  Izvoshtchik  !  "  my  friend  called  out. 

"I'm  engaged,"  he  replied. 

"  You   are   to  come   immediately." 

"  But  I " 

"  No  words.     Drive  us  at  once  !  " 

"  But,  Your  Excellency " 

My  friend  was  in  uniform,  his  chest  decorated  with 
orders.     The  izvoshtchik  had  stepped  nearer. 

"  Drive  on  !  "  impatiently  commanded  the  annoyed 
Excellency.     Sullenly  the  man  climbed  on  his  coach 


192  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

seat,  took  the  reins,  and  off  we  jolted.  "  Thou  rascal ! 
Thou  miscreant !  "  my  host  went  on  saying  ;  "  thou 
requirest  to  be  taught  a  lesson.  I  ought  to  notify  thy 
number  to  the  police  for  refusing  to  drive  me."  I 
felt  terribly  shy  and  uncomfortable.  My  life  in 
England  had  made  me  sensitive,  and  I  knew  that  none 
of  my  British  acquaintances  would  have  spoken  to  a 
cabby  or,  indeed,  to  anyone  in  such  a  way.  Perhaps 
His  Excellency  felt  my  embarrassment,  for  he  began 
to  make  excuses  for  his  high-handed  manner.  "  These 
izvoshtchiki  are  all  rascals  ;  they  are  getting  too 
independent  and  impertinent." 

The  whole  distance  of  our  drive  was  hardly  a  mile. 
We  jolted  over  the  awful  pavement,  the  much-abused 
driver  having  collapsed  into  himself.  On  arrival  at 
our  destination,  my  friend  said  in  quite  a  polite  voice 
to  the  izvoshtchik  :  "  Well,  now,  come  on,  tell  me  why 
didst  thou  refuse  to  drive  me  ?  " 

"  Your  Excellency,"  he  replied  meekly,  "  I  was 
not  free  to  do  so  ;  I  had  been  engaged  by  the  shop- 
keeper to  fetch  his  goods  for  him."  The  Excellency 
paid  him  handsomely. 

"  Drive  back  quickly  and  thou  wilt  yet  be  able  to 
keep  thy  promise  to  hun,"  he  said,  handing  the 
driver  the  money. 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  thought  much. 


THE  ALEXANDER  NEVSKI   LAVRA.        193 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

The  Alexander  Nevski  Lavra. 

Peace  and  quiet  reigned  within  the  precincts  of 
the  Alexander  Nevski  Monastery.  Only  the  sound 
of  footsteps  broke  the  silence,  when  suddenly  the 
great  bells  of  this  most  sacred  monastery  of  Petrograd 
began  to  ring.  How  the  sound  of  church  bells  belongs 
to  Russia  !  The  fine  chimes  and  deep  heavy  boom 
are  to  the  outer  world  what  the  voices  of  the  choir 
are   inside   the   building. 

This  Sunday  morning  the  worshippers  were  mostly 
soldiers.  On  the  one  side  of  the  centre  aisle  stood 
wounded  men,  on  the  other,  healthy,  sturdy  Cossacks. 
A  few  sleek,  comfortable  tradesmen  entered  the 
church,  and  as  I  went  up  nearer  to  the  altar,  I  found 
there  an  ordinary  congregation  of  men,  women  and 
children.  The  choir  chanted  its  lovely  music.  The 
deep  bass  of  the  Archdeacon  rang  out,  "  Let  us  pray 
to  the  Lord,"  the  silver  bell  voices  of  the  boys  chimed 
the  reply,  "  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us."  The  service 
continued,  and  Cossack  and  peaceful  citizen  were  wor- 
shipping in  whole-hearted  devotion. 

Suddenly,  the  voice  of  the  celebrating  Bishop,  a 
venerable  old  man,  broke  in  upon  the  chanting,  and 
in  simple  words,  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  emotion, 
he  spoke  the  prayer  for  the  war.  We  all  knelt  down, 
and  the  bowed  figures  of  the  soldiers  and  the  prostrated 
figm'es  of  men  and  women  were  the  outward  expression 
of   an    inward    attitude.     The    Bishop's    voice    rose 


194  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

in  fervour,  as,  free  from  intoning  or  monotoning,  he 
prayed  for  the  wounded  and  the  sick,  for  the  gallant 
army,  for  the  Allies — for  a  blessing  on  the  nation, 
for  good  to  come  out  of  all  the  sorrow  and  suffering. 

Then  the  choir  began  to  chant  a  psalm,  and  as  I 
looked  upward  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  gallery  on  which 
the  more  than  life-sized  marble  figures  of  the  Twelve 
Apostles  were  represented,  all  sitting  in  various  posi- 
tions, all,  however,  were  turning  towards  the  chancel, 
and  appeared  to  be  listening  intently.  For  nigh  two 
hundred  years  these  figures  have  sat  there,  a  symbol 
of  the  people  who  come  to  the  sanctuary,  to  listen 
to  the  voices  of  boys  and  men,  either  calling  to  prayer 
or  singing  praises,  and  the  beautiful  acoustic  properties 
of  the  church  allow  even  the  softest  tones  to  float 
through  its  spaces,  reaching  every  corner. 

To  the  left  of  the  sanctuary  stands  a  sarcophagus 
of  Alexander  Nevski,  warrior  and  saint,  in  fact,  the 
patron  saint  of  Petrograd.  Some  seven  hundred 
years  ago  he  fought  the  famous  battle  on  the  Neva, 
where  he  defeated  Sweden,  then  Russia's  most  bitter 
enemy.  The  efhgy  of  the  warrior  and  a  few  of  his  bones 
lie  in  the  heavy  silver  coffin,  and  at  both  sides,  worked 
in  silver,  are  his  standard  and  armour,  and  above  it 
all,  the  bright,  glowing  image  of  that  young  and 
knightly  Grand  Duke  of  whom  it  was  said,  when  he 
died,  that  "  the  sun  had  set  for  Russia." 

Alexander  Nevski  lived  during  the  terrible  years 
of  the  first  Mongol  invasion,  and  in  order  to  save  his 
dear  people  of  Novgorod  the  Great,  he  visited  the 
court  of  the  haughty  and  imperious  Tartar  Khan. 
He  interceded  for  his  subjects  when  on  earth.  Surely, 
so  says  the  pious  Russian,  he  is  still  interceding  for  us 


Alexander  Nevski. 


Face  p.  19  t. 


THE  ALEXANDER   NEVSKI   LAVRA.        195 

to-day.  Therefore,  crowds  come  to  his  shrine,  and 
anxious  wives  ask  for  his  intercession  on  behalf  of  their 
beloved  ones  out  on  the  battlefield. 

WTien  Peter  the  Great  founded  his  new  capital, 
he  had  the  relics  of  the  victor  of  the  battle  on  the 
Neva  brought  to  the  city  on  that  river.  The  town  has, 
however,  developed  in  other  directions  ;  not  therefore 
in  the  centre,  but  in  the  outskirts  of  the  busy  capital 
lies  the  premier  sanctuary  of  Petrograd — the  Alexander 
Nevski  Lavra.  An  atmosphere  of  quiet  surrounds 
the  Cathedral.  The  green  lawns  are  intersected  by 
avenues  of  quaintly  grown  birch  trees.  All  along  the 
big  square  are  buildings,  the  cells  of  the  monks  and  the 
house  of  the  Metropolitan.  In  three  corners  of  the 
quadrangle  are  churches,  the  fourth,  although  to  all 
appearance  also  a  church,  is  in  reality  the  monastic 
museum.  Here  stands  the  model  of  the  Cathedral 
as  originally  planned.  Here  is  the  bed  on  which  Peter 
the  Great  used  to  sleep,  and  the  portable  folding  chapel 
of  the  Empress  Elizabeth,  also  the  chair  of  Catherine 
the  Great.  In  glass  cupboards  hang  costly  vestments, 
and  in  glass  cases  lie  wonderful  carvings,  and  every 
space  on  the  wall  is  hung  with  old  ikons.  Most  things 
belong  to  the  remote  past  of  Russian  life,  except  the 
new  cope  given  to  the  Metropolitan  who  had  crowned 
four  emperors. 

Opposite  the  entrance  to  the  Cathedral  is  a  door- 
way to  the  Metropolitan's  dwelling,  and  every  day 
during  the  winter  and  three  times  a  week  during  the 
summer,  from  two  to  four,  the  Vladyka  holds  a  recep- 
tion, and  even  the  poorest  person  is  free  to  enter.  I 
had  come  to  ask  for  permission  to  visit  the  library, 
and  was  thus  able  to  watch  the  new  Metropolitan 


196  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Pitirim  receive  his  guests.  I  saw  a  gentle-looking, 
kindly  old  man,  in  white  monk's  garb,  listening  with 
genuine  sympathy  to  the  stammered-out  story  of  a 
young  invalid  officer,  who  was  evidently  in  need  of 
pecuniary  help.  There  sat  an  important  looking 
cleric,  to  whom  I  was  later  on  introduced— a  Bishop 
from  a  distant  diocese.  There,  too,  was  a  big  financier, 
who  evidently  needed  the  influence  of  the  Church  to 
carry  out  his  undertaking,  which,  he  told  me,  was 
to  further  the  Anglo-Russian  Alliance. 

It  was  all  so  human  and  simple.  The  old  man 
holding  a  whispered  conversation  with  his  secretary 
as  to  what  to  give  the  invalid  ;  the  quick,  energetic 
and  gracious  manner  with  which  he  turned  to  me. 
I  found  in  him  a  man  intent  on  helping  the  people, 
deeply  interested  in  the  welfare  of  the  soldiers  and 
prisoners  of  war,  accessible  to  everyone  who  sought 
his  advice  or  help.* 

Next  I  visited  the  librarian,  and  he  told  me  of  the  life 
of  the  monks,  of  their  work  and  occupation,  and  also 
of  their  sources  of  income.  Thus  I  found  out  that  the 
revenue  had  been  chiefly  derived  from  the  sale  of 
burial  ground  in  the  famous  cemetery  which  belongs 
to  the  monastery,  but  also  from  the  rents  of  great  ware- 
houses on  the  riverside  close  by. 

Later,  as  I  drove  past  these,  I  saw  pile  upon  pile 
of  bags  of  flour  being  unloaded,  and  I  thought,  "  What 
a  symbol  !  Surely  such  a  sanctuary  ought  to  provide 
food,  spiritual  food,  to  the  masses." 

As  I  walked  out  of  the  precincts  of  the  Cathedral 

*He  has  been  deposed  and  put  into  punitive  seclusion  in  a 
monastery.  It  appears  that  he  was  a  supporter  of  Rasputin  and  one 
of  the  vvieldcrs  of  dark  forces. 


THE  ALEXANDER  NEVSKI   LAVRA.        197 

Square,  I  entered  a  cemetery  which  lies  on  both  sides 
of  the  path  as  one  passes  through  the  gate  of  the 
famous  LavTa.  There  I  discovered  the  graves  of  most 
of  Russia's  musicians,  Moussorgsky,  Dragomyishski, 
GHnka,  Borodin  and  Tchaikovsky.  There  also  lay 
Russia's  first  literary  lights,  Lomonossov,  Karamsin, 
Joukovsky,  Kryilov,  as  well  as  some  modern  writers, 
greatest  among  them  Dostoyevski.  I  had  the  feeling 
as  if  the  cemetery  were  a  Russian  Westminster  Abbey. 
\^'hen  I  asked  the  gatekeeper  whether  the  illustrious 
men  had  been  buried  there  by  invitation  of  the  monastic 
authorities,  he  replied  curtly,  "  Wliat  does  the  Lavra 
care  for  music  or  letters  ?  " 

"  For  music,  surely  it  cares,"  I  replied,  "  seeing 
how  it  is  rendered  in  the  Cathedral." 

There  within  the  precincts  of  the  Lavra  meet  past 
and  present,  life  and  death,  youth  and  age,  and  the 
visitor  to  this  sanctuary  of  Petrograd's  Patron  Saint 
will  carry  away  with  him  a  living  picture  of  the  Cathe- 
dral and  the  silver  sarcophagus  of  the  brave  waiTior- 
saint  Alexander  Nevski,  of  wounded  soldiers  who 
to-day  have  borne  the  brunt  of  the  battle,  of  the  vener- 
able Metropolitan,  and  of  the  little  children  who  play 
so  merrily  in  the  shady  paths  of  the  quadrangle,  of  the 
cemetery  with  its  graves  of  famous  musicians,  whose 
works  are  giving  delight  to  all  lovers  of  music,  and 
who,  perhaps,  more  than  anyone  else  have  given  to 
the  world  a  revelation  of  the  riches  and  tenderness  of 
Russia's  soul. 

Warrior-saint,  clerics,  poets,  musicians,  soldiers 
and  children,  they  all  belong  to  the  Lavra  of  Alexander 
Nevski. 


198  REAL  RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
Books  and  Pictures. 

It  was  outside  the  little  monastic  bookshop,  close  to 
the  gates  of  the  Alexander  Nevski  Lavra,  that  I  saw 
pasted  to  the  wall  rows  of  crudely  coloured  pictures 
of  Scripture  subjects. 

"  Can  you  sell  me  one  of  those  pictures  on  which 
souls  going  into  hell  are  shewn  ?  "  I  said  to  the  sales- 
woman, but  before  she  could  answer,  a  customer  stand- 
ing by  remarked  with  a  scowl  :  "  Yes,  indeed — souls. 
Everything  is  being  taken  from  us,  soon  our  very 
souls  will  be  demanded." 

I  presumed  all  his  sons  had  been  taken  into  the 
Army — hence  his  crossness.  The  saleswoman,  how- 
ever, said  with  a  smile  :  "  You  wish  a  picture  of  the 
Last  Judgment.  There  is  a  great  demand  for  this 
particular  subject  and  the  sale  of  this  picture  has  gone 
up.  The  war  is  making  people  think  of  death,"  she 
added, 

I  looked  at  various  pictures,  brightly  coloured  and 
popular,  such  as  the  people  love  to  buy. 

"  Have  you  the  Akaphist  to  the  Saviour  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Yes,  and  here  it  is." 

She  handed  me  a  small  booklet  which  had  been 
recommended  to  me  as  containing  beautiful  hymns 
of  praise  to  Our  Lord.  I  was  glad  to  find  at  last  what 
I  had  vainly  sought  for  in  other  places.  As  I  bade 
the  woman  farewell,  I  told  her  that  I  hoped  to  translate 


BOOKS  AND  PICTURES.  igg 

these  prayers  into  English.  She  looked  very  pleased 
at  this,  and,  true  to  my  intentions,  I  have  translated 
some  of  these  hymns  of  praise,  which  all  end  with  the 
refrain  "  Hallelujah," 

In  Heaven  Angels  are  unceasingly  praising  Thy  Holy  Name, 

O  Jesus. 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  they  sing. 
But  we  sinners  on  earth  with  mortal  lips  are  singing — 

Hallelujah. 

By  Thy  Divine  Blood  Thou  didst  redeem  us  of  old. 

From  the  curse  of  the  law,  O  Jesus. 
Dehver  us   now,  from  the   net  in  which   the  serpent   has 
caught  us. 

By   passion    of    flesh,    impure   desire    and    evil 
suggestions. 
Us,  who  sing  unto  Thee — Hallelujah. 

Hearing  Thee  pass  by,  O  Lord, 

The  bUnd  man  called  out — 
Jesus,  Thou  Son  of  David,  have  mercy  upon  me  1 

Enhghten  Thou  now,  O  Jesus,  the  eyes  of  my 
heart. 
Who  sing  to  Thee — Hallelujah. 

Seeing  the  widow  weeping,  O  Jesus, 

When  her  son  was  being  carried  to  burial, 
Thou  didst  pity  her,  raising  her  son  from  the  dead. 

So  now,  O  Lord,  have  pity  on  me. 
And  raise  Thou  my  soul  dead  in  sin. 

And  I  will  sing — Hallelujah. 

With  power  from  on  High  Thou  didst  endow  the  Apostles, 

So  also  now,  O  Lord,  clothe  me 
With  the  warmth  of  Thy  Holy  Spirit, 

Me,  who  am  naked. 
And  give  me  to  sing  with  love  unto  Thee — Hallelujah. 


200  REAL  RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

Contented  Heroes. 

True  to  my  promise  I  revisited  the  barracks  of  the 
Tcherkasski  Regiment,  expecially  as  the  Lieut. - 
Colonel  had  extended  a  hearty  invitation  to  me  to 
come  to  see  my  men  whenever  I  liked.  This  time  I  had 
hoped  to  bring  the  Metropolitan  with  me,  for  I  had 
told  him  about  our  brave  men,  and  found  that  he  was 
much  interested  in  the  fate  of  the  prisoners  of  war. 
Apparently  he  had  had  heated  arguments  with 
General  Khabaloff  over  this  matter — the  latter's 
idea  being  that  no  man  had  the  right  to  become  a 
prisoner,  and  also  that  there  might  be  spies  among 
the  men.*  Although  I  waited  for  quite  a  long  time, 
the  kindly  old  man  did  not  turn  up.  However,  on 
my  return  home  I  found  a  telephone  message  to  the 
effect  that  he  greatly  regretted  having  failed  me, 
but  he  had  been  kept  at  the  Synod. 

While  I  was  waiting  in  the  street  outside  the  barracks 
in  company  with  the  wives  and  sweethearts  who  had 
come  to  see  the  soldiers  during  visiting  hours,  some 
of  my  men  came  up.  They  stopped  and  talked  to  me. 
All  were  in  uniform,  looking  happy  and  contented. 
I  went  along  with  them  to  the  barracks,  but  at  the 

*"  Surely  if  God  was  willing  to  spare  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  for 
the  sake  of  ten  righteous,  hundieds  of  men  ought  not  to  be  left  to 
suffer  for  ten  unrighteous."  These  were  the  Metropolitan's  words 
to  me  as  we  discussed  the  plight  of  the  soldiers  escaped  from 
captivity. 


CONTENTED   HEROES.  201 

gate  the  sentinel  challenged  me.  My  companions, 
however,  said  with  a  grand  air,  "  She  can  pass." 

Inside  I  was  soon  smTOunded  by  a  number  of  my 
proteges,  who  told  me  that  they  were  well-fed,  well- 
housed,  and  in  every  way  well  cared  for  ;  but  they 
had  still  one  great  grievance — not  one  of  them  had  as 
yet  been  granted  leave. 

"  If  they  will  not  send  us  home  on  furlough,  why 
can't  they  send  us  back  to  the  trenches  ?  "  some  of 
them  remarked. 

"  We  have  escaped  on  purpose  to  serve  our  country 
again,  and  not  to  idle  our  time  away." 

An  officer  came  up  to  us,  and  recognising  me  as  the 
lady  who  had  accompanied  the  Prince,  volunteered 
to  show  me  over  the  barracks.  I  expressed  my  admira- 
tion at  the  order  and  tidiness  which  prevailed. 

The  officer  seemed  very  gratified.  "  Yes,"  he  replied, 
"  we  do  try  to  keep  things  clean,"  then,  turning  to 
one  of  the  men,  he  pointed  to  a  cigarette  end  on  the 
floor  and  commanded  him  with  severity  not  to  let 
such   a  thing  happen  again. 

"  We  do  all  we  can  to  make  your  friends  happy," 
he  said  to  me  ;  "  we  take  parties  of  them  to  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens  and  Museums,  and  as  we  have  not  j^et 
received  any  orders  with  regard  to  them,  I  am  going 
to  ask  permission  to  give  them  daily  drill." 

"  WTiich  official  is  responsible  for  the  men  who 
have  escaped  from  Germany  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  General  Belyaeff,"*  he  replied  ;  "  but  he  is  in 
France  at  present." 

"  And  will  these  men  have  to  wait  till  he  comes 
back  ?  "  I  queried. 

*This  general  has  also  been  imprisoned  since  the  Revolution. 


202  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  That  I  cannot  say,"  the  officer  answered,  adding 
wearily,  "  but  I  do  wish  I  could  get  some  definite 
orders  as  to  what  is  to  be  done  with  them." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  in  showing  me 
round  ;  then,  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  yard  I  talked 
with  my  soldiers. 

They  informed  me  that  at  six  o'clock  on  the  night 
before  I  brought  the  Prince  to  Ochta,  they  had  been 
ordered  off  to  the  Kalinkin  Brewery  (I  had  been 
at  General  Khabaloff's  at  4  o'clock),  but  that  when  they 
arrived  there  the  Commander  of  that  Depot  had  said 
to  them,  "  My  children,  you  are  heroes,  and  on  no 
account  must  you  stay  here,  where  only  the  riff-raff 
of  the  Army  is  sent."  He  sent  them  on  to  Ochta 
on  his  own  responsibility. 

I  informed  the  men  that  the  Metropolitan  Pitirim 
was  their  friend,  that  he  intended  paying  them  a  visit  ; 
also  that  anyone  who  liked  might  go  and  see  him  from 
3  to  4  o'clock  three  afternoons  a  week,  "  I  will  be  sure 
to  go  and  see  him,"  said  one  young  soldier. 

"  Sestritza  !  "  exclaimed  another  one  suddenly,  his 
face  all  aglow  with  joy,  "  Her  Majesty  the  Empress 
is  going  to  come  and  review  us." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  of  it,"  I  replied,  "  for  that 
is  just  what  I  had  asked  her  to  do,  and  she  promised 
to  make  your  cause  her  own.  Brothers,"  I  said, 
on  bidding  them  good-bye,  "  although  I  am  leaving 
for  England,  remember  that  you  have  always  a  good 
friend  in  the  wife  of  the  English  Ambassador."* 

♦How  they  profited  by  my  suggestion  may  be  judged  from  the 
fact  that  by  February  six  thousand  of  them  had  visited  the  British 
Embassy,  and  come  away  enriched  by  clothing  for  their  wives 
and  children  and  shirts  for  themselves. 


FUNERAL  PROCESSIONS.  203 

The  dear  men  looked  at  me  with  affection  beaming 
out  of  their  eyes,  shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand  :  "  You 
are  as  dear  to  us  as  our  own  souls,"  were  their  parting 
words. 


CHAPTER   L. 

Funeral  Processions. 

There  was  evidently  a  breakdown  of  trams,  for  I 
had  to  wait  quite  half  an  hour  before  one  came  along. 
I  was  standing  on  the  Sredni  Prospect,  about  a  mile 
from  the  Smolenski  Cemetery,  and  although  it  was 
early,  several  funerals  passed  me,  of  which  three 
followed  in  quick  succession. 

The  first  funeral  cortege  included  one  mourner 
only.  The  mere  skeleton  of  a  horse,  which  was  draw- 
ing the  most  primitive  of  hearses,  was  trotting  along 
instead  of  going  at  funeral  pace.  A  half-grown  lad 
sat  negligently  in  front  of  the  cofhn  ;  to  him  it  was 
all  the  same  at  what  pace  his  horse  went — it  was  just 
a  job  to  be  done.  Not  so  for  the  poor,  elderly  woman 
who,  unable  to  keep  pace  easily  with  the  hearse,  was 
clutching  it  with  one  hand  and  was  thus  half  dragged, 
half  tripping,  after  the  coffin  of  some  beloved.  It  was 
pathetic  to  watch  that  struggling  figure.  The  solitary 
mourner's  face  expressed  merely  physical  discomfort — 
but  could  one  expect  anything  else  under  these  condi- 
tions ? 


204  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

The  miserable  horse  had  just  turned  round  the  corner 
when  another  equally  poor  funeral  came  along. 
Again  the  simplest  of  carriages  and  the  cheapest  of 
coffins.  Behind  it  walked  six  poorly-clad  girls — pro- 
bably they  were  burying  a  comrade,  a  fellow  toiler. 
Only  one  of  the  girls  had  a  black  jacket  on — the  others 
were  wearing  ordinary  coloured  frocks.  It  is  difficult 
enough  for  the  well-to-do  to  buy  mourning  at  present, 
and  impossible  for  the  poor  to  do  so. 

My  tram  was  not  yet  in  sight  when  a  third  funeral 
approached — a  white  hearse  drawn  by  horses  in  white 
trappings  and  plumes.  The  white  coffin  was  pro- 
fusely covered  with  wreaths,  and  quite  a  number  of 
well-dressed  mourners  were  walking  behind.  There 
was  the  usual  sight  of  the  few  sad-faced  relations, 
and  behind  them — as  if  graduated  after  the  measure 
of  their  grief — friends  and  acquaintances.  The  latter 
were  talking  of  all  sorts  of  things,  their  looks  expressing 
no  sorrow.  The  procession  was  closed  by  a  few  empty 
carriages.  In  Russia  everybody  who  is  able  to  walk 
follows  the  hearse  on  foot,  whatever  the  distance, 
and  carriages  are  there  merely  for  the  homeward 
drive. 

I  observed  that  every  izvoshtchik  who  happened  to 
drive  past  the  coffin  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross — 
otherwise  no  one  seemed  to  take  much  notice  of 
the  funerals — too  common  a  sight  in  that  part  of 
Petrograd. 

Frequently  I  had  heard  soldiers  singing  as  they 
marched  through  the  streets,  and  they  march  to  their 
song  with  a  swing.  Perhaps  one  man  starts  a  song, 
a  few  others  take  up  the  melody,  and  very  soon  the 
whole  party  are  singing  in  harmony,  but  never  had  I 


FUNERAL   PROCESSIONS.  205 

seen  soldiers  marching  to  the  strains  of  a  band;.  There- 
fore, I  was  naturally  greatly  interested  to  know  what 
was  the  occasion  when  one  day  the  sound  of  military 
music  reached  me  as  I  was  driving  along  the  Morskaya. 

Just  as  we  neared  the  St.  Isaac's  Cathedral  we  over- 
took a  military  band,  which  formed  the  rear  of  a  long 
procession.  "  What  is  this,"  I  asked  my  driver.  "  A 
military  funeral,"  was  his  reply.  We  overtook  the  pro- 
cession, and  as  we  drove  slowly  past  the  cortege  I  caught 
sight  of  four  hearses.  Behind  each  walked  a  group 
of  relations  and  friends  followed  by  a  detachment  of 
soldiers.  Four  officers  of  the  same  regiment  were 
thus  being  conveyed  to  their  last  resting-place. 

In  my  mind  there  will  be  now  for  ever  linked  with 
Russian  military  music  the  picture  of  that  solemn 
military  funeral  procession  as  it  wended  its  way  past 
the  stately  Cathedral. 

It  was  near  the  qua3^  close  to  the  statue  of  Peter 
the  Great  that,  a  few  days  later,  I  watched  the  funeral 
cortege  of  some  high  military  official.  A  large  number 
of  officers  of  all  ranks  were  walking  behind  the  elegant 
hearse,  which  was  drawn  by  eight  horses,  at  the  usual 
pace  of  a  funeral.  Here  was  the  extreme  opposite 
to  the  humble  procession  I  had  seen  some  days  before, 
when  the  lonely  mourner,  doing  her  best  to  keep  up 
with  the  ill-fed  horse,  M^as  hurried  along  at  a  speed 
unseemly  for  the  last  sad  pilgiimage. 


2o6  REAL  RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER   LI. 

Sidelights. 

It  would  have  been  exceedingly  interesting  could  I 
have  had  a  gramophone  to  catch  all  the  remarks  made 
to  me.  That  record  would  have  been  very  valuable 
for  future  days. 

Those  were  anxious  days  for  the  Allied  Diplomats. 
Sazonoff,  the  Foreign  Minister,  had  been  forced  to 
resign,  owing  to  intrigues. 

"  He  was  bought  by  England,"  someone  said  to 
me. 

"It  is  through  the  influence  of  Rasputin  and  the 
young  Empress  that  Sazonoff  has  had  to  go.  They 
want  peace  and  he  is  in  the  way,"  said  another. 

A  certain  section  of  Russian  society  which,  without 
being  pro-German  was  anti-war,  seemed  very  pleased 
with  the  appointment  of  his  successor,  Stuermer.  One 
of  these  people  told  me  with  genuine  pleasure  and 
satisfaction  :  "  Stuermer  has  been  chosen  because  he 
knows  nothing  whatever  of  diplomacy,  and  when  it 
comes  to  peace  proposals,  he  will  be  quite  unhampered 
by  diplomatic  finesse,  and  with  sound  commonsense 
will  go  straight  ahead." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  I  replied  ;  "  he  is  to  be  an  illustration 
of  the  British  proverb  :  '  Fools  rush  in  where  angels 
fear  to  tread  '  !  " 

"  Stuermer  is  so  ignorant  of  foreign  politics  that 
when  asked  questions  in  Council,  his  replies  have  to 


SIDELIGHTS.  207 

be  handed  to  him  surreptitiously  on  sHps  of  paper," 
said  someone  else  less  enchanted  by  the  choice  of  Foreign 
Minister. 

Yet  another  informed  me  that  "  all  Monsieur  Stuer- 
mer  had  ever  done  was  to  aiTange  precedence  at  Court 
functions  in  his  capacity  of  Chamberlain." 


"  I  cannot  see  what  we  are  going  to  gain  by  this 
war,"  said  the  wife  of  a  renowned  doctor  to  me.  "  We 
are  told  that  we  are  to  throw  off  German  domination, 
but  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  we  are  only  going  to  exchange 
if  for  the  British  yoke."  Her  remark  annoyed  me  very 
much,  for  it  showed  how  insidiously  pro-German 
propaganda,  or,  should  I  say,  anti-British  propaganda, 
was  being  carried  out. 


"  So  after  all  you  have  become  Minister,  and  yet 
you  said  you  wanted  to  retire  from  public  work." 
With  these  words  I  greeted  one  of  the  members  of  the 
re-constructed  Cabinet.  "  Permit  me  to  congratulate 
you." 

"  Really,  there  is  nothing  much  in  being  a  Minister," 
he  replied  deprecatingly  ;  "  to-day  one  is  in  office, 
next  week  one  is  out."*- 

I  felt  very  sorry  to  hear  him  speak  thus,  for  surely 
if  Russian  Ministers  think  so  lightly  of  their  position 
and  always  sit  loosely  in  the  saddle,  they  cannot  have 
a  strong  feeling  of  responsibility  towards  the  nation. 

*In  fact,  during  the  last  ten  years  there  have  been  about  eighty 
changes  of  Ministers. 


2o8  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

In  this  particular  case  my  acquaintance  was  entering 
upon  most  arduous  duties,  as  his  predecessor  had  made 
a  terrible  muddle  of  things. 


"  My  dear,  do  be  careful  ;  you  might  get  into  such 
difficulties  with  the  Police."  The  speaker  was  an  old 
friend  of  my  parents. 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  I  replied,  "  for  at  present 
my  time  is  spent  in  visiting  Cabinet  Ministers." 

"  Still,  I  must  beg  you  to  be  careful,  for  quite  a 
number  of  people  have  recently  vanished,  and  in  one 
case  it  was  fully  three  months  before  we  were  able 
to  trace  the  whereabouts  of  a  certain  lady.  People 
have  been  taken  up  by  the  Police  at  a  moment's  notice. 
I  often  have  to  enquire  into  such  cases,  as  it  is  my  duty 
to  deal  with  the  petitions  which  are  presented  to  Her 
Majesty,   the  Empress  Dowager.  ..." 


"  I  cannot  believe  that  the  Germans  are  as  bad 
as  they  are  painted,"  said  a  haggard,  sad-eyed  woman, 
a  mechanic's  wife  who  had  been  a  lady's  maid  in  her 
younger  days.  "  We  know  so  many  of  them  who  have 
country  houses  in  this  place,  and  they  are  all  so  nice 
and  kind." 

"  Annushka,"  I  replied,  "  the  people  you  have  in 
mind  are  not  real  Germans,  in  spite  of  their  German 
names  and  Protestant  Faith.  Their  families  have  been 
for  generations  in  Russia  ;  they  have  become  Russian 
in  heart  and  mind,  and  have,  in  course  of  time,  assimi- 
lated all  that  is  best  from  the  Russian  people.     These 


SIDELIGHTS.  209 

people  are  quite  different  from  the  Germans  of  Germany, 
by  whom  they  are  called  Russians." 

My  explanation  of  the  problem  which  had  so  per- 
plexed her,  seemed  to  satisfy  the  good  woman. 


Everybody  was  grumbling  against  the  Government. 
Long  lists  of  misdeeds  were  pointed  out  to  me  and 
incidents  of  gross  mismanagement  quoted.  One  case 
called  forth  special  resentment.  The  Government 
had  issued  the  order  that  no  calves  were  to  be  killed. 
Now,  as  it  happened,  a  large  consignment  of  veal 
had  just  been  delivered  in  Petrograd,  and  instead  of 
letting  this  meat  be  sold,  the  letter  of  the  law  had 
to  be  fulfilled  and  thousands  of  pounds  of  good  meat 
left  to  rot,  while  there  was  none  for  the  people  to 
buy. 

"  Will  you  believe  me,"  said  a  lady,  "  I  have  just 
been  asked  forty  roubles  {£-^)  for  a  ham.  Rather 
much  for  any  pocket.  ..." 

"  I  often  have  to  go  hungry,"  said  a  cousin  of  mine, 
"  for  the  portions  in  the  Vegetarian  Restaurant  are  so 
small  that  even  three  courses  are  not  sufficient  to  satisfy 
one.  Once  a  week,  however,  I  go  to  the  Army  and 
Navy  Co-operative  Stores  and  permit  myself  the 
luxury  of  a  good  beef-steak.  ..." 

"  Soon  we  shall  not  know  what  to  buy  for  food," 
said  another  friend  who  was  quite  well  oft,  "  everything 
is  so  dear.  Imagine,  the  whortleberries  we  used  to 
buy  for  5  kopeks  (ijd.)  now  cost  40  kopeks,  and  one 
tomato  costs  20  kopeks.  .  .  ." 

"  How  much  did  you  give  for  your  boots  ?  "  This 
question  was  asked  me  so  frequently  that  I  began  to 


210  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

feel  quite  conscious  of  my  foot-geai.  "  We  cannot 
buy  any  under  50  roubles  (£5)  the  pair.  ..." 

"  What  is  a  poor  woman  to  do  for  boots  ?  "  said  the 
old  servant,  looking  ruefully  down  at  her  feet.  "  I 
used  to  pay  i  rouble  40  kopeks  for  these  cloth  boots, 
and  now  I  cannot  get  them  under  6  roubles.  As  to 
leather  ones,  even  the  poorest  cannot  buy  them  under 
16  roubles." 

"  I  will  send  you  a  pair  from  England,"  I  said  to 
comfort  her.  My  offer  greatly  delighted  her,  and  she 
let  me  make  a  drawing  of  the  sole  of  her  boot. 


We  had  been  discussing  the  food  difficulty  and  the 
general  state  of  muddle,  when  one  lady  suddenly 
said  :"  It  is  by  order  of  the  Government  that  food 
is  being  kept  back." 

"  But  for  what  reason?  "   I  asked  with  surprise. 

"  Oh,  in  order  to  bring  about  rioting,"  she  replied 
quite  solemnly ;  "for  it  is  generally  believed  there  is 
a  secret  clause  in  the  agreement  between  the  Allies 
that  any  one  Power  is  free  to  conclude  a  separate 
peace  in  case  of  internal  disturbances." 

"  Surely  that  is  wild  talk,"  I  retorted. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  is  not  so,"  she  persisted.  "  Believe 
me,  the  police  are  doing  their  best  to  bring  about  dis- 
turbances, and  that  would  suit  the  pro-German  element 
down  to  the  ground." 


"  What  do  you  think  about  the  war  ?  "  I  asked  a 
workman. 

"  Well,  what  should  I  think  about  it  ?  "  he  growled 


SIDELIGHTS.  211 

out  surlily.  "  What  good  will  it  do  us  peasants  ? 
It  will  not  procure  us  any  more  land — no  more  than 
we  got  after  the  Japanese  War.  .  .  .*  And  we  had 
been  so  sure  more  land  would  be  given  us  then  !  What 
kind  of  Government  is  it  we  have  !  It  is  not  enough 
that  our  men  are  sent  against  the  enemy  with  in- 
sufficient weapons,  but  while  they  are  being  killed  off, 
the  Government  is  introducing  yellow  people  as  work- 
men, who  work  for  less  wages  than  we  Russians  do. 
Don't  speak  to  me  of  the  war,"  he  said  with  annoyance 
and  finality  in  his  voice,  turning  away  and  shoving  wood 
under  a  boiler  in  which  water  was  being  boiled  in 
readiness  for  the  troops  who  were  due  at  that  station. 


One  of  the  remarks  which  amused  me  greatly  was 
uttered  by  a  pro-German  lady  whose  grievances  against 
the  Government  were,  on  the  whole,  justified — this 
one  was  distinctly  diverting. 

"  What  have  we  come  to  ?  "  she  said  with  a  deep 
sigh  and  a  shake  of  the  head,  "  that  the  wife  of  an 
English  clergyman  has  to  come  all  the  way  to  Russia 
to  explain  things  to  our  Cabinet  Ministers  !  " 

*"  Laud,"  that  is  the  one  cry  of  the  peasant. 


212  REAL  RUSSIANS. 


CHAPTER   LII. 

Grumblers. 

I  MET  many  people  who  were  perpetually  grumbling 
and  gioaning  over  the  dislocation  produced  by  the 
war,  and  they  were  astonished  to  hear  from  me  that  the 
same  phenomena  are  apparent  in  England.  I  must 
admit  that  it  gave  me  a  certain  satisfaction  to 
tell  these  grumblers  that  in  England  people  complained 
of  exactly  the  same  evils,  so  that  the  Russians  have 
no  need  to  feel  that  theirs  is  the  one  and  only  imperfect 
country  in  the  world.* 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  about  which  no  one 
in  Russia  grumbled,  and  that  was  drunkenness. 
Russia  is  ahe^d,  surely,  of  all  other  nations,  in  that 
there  are  at  present  no  drunkards  to  be  seen  among 
her  168,000,000  people.  It  is  a  sober  nation  which 
will  win  the  war. 

What  about  afterwards  ?  "If  there  is  no  vodka 
to  be  had  we  can  do  without,"  a  peasant  said  to  me, 
"  but  if  it  is  again  within  our  reach  we  shall  drink  it 
as  before." 

It  will  indeed  require  great  skill  of  statesmanship 
to  solve  the  problem  raised  so  frequently  by  thoughtful 
Russians  as  to  what  substitute  for  vodka  can  be  given 

♦Naturally  everything  is  on  a  larger  scale  in  Russia,  proportionate 
to  her  vast  territory  and  her  immense  population.  Conditions 
are  also  more  aggravated  owing  to  the  complicated  machinery 
of  admit, istratioii,  whereby  "  ordre  et  contre-ordre  "  lead  to  the 
proverbial    "  desordre.'" 


KAZAN   CATHEDRAL   IN   PETROGRAD.      213 

to  the  people,  for  the  aboHtion  of  vodka  by  the 
Emperor,  and  the  prohibition  of  the  sale  of  wines 
and  beer  by  the  municipalities,  are  merely  temporary 
war  measures. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

The  Kazan  Cathedral  ix  Petrograd. 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon — time  for  Evensong — I 
asked  my  driver  to  stop  at  the  Kazan  Cathedral  while 
I  went  in  for  a  few  moments  of  quiet.  He  did  so 
willingly,  and  passing  several  women  with  collecting 
boxes — for  refugees,  feeding  centres,  the  wounded, 
etc. — I  entered  this  famous  Sanctuary  which  stands  off 
the  busiest  thoroughfare  of  Petrograd — the  Nevski 
Prospect.  With  its  colonnade  of  pillars  the  Kazan 
Cathedral  reminds  one  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome,  with 
this  difference,  that  it  is  not  placed  in  haughty  loneli- 
ness, but  in  the  very  midst  of  Petrograd's  life,  in  the 
centre  of  commerce  and  trade,  of  work  and  pleasure. 
It  is  not  merely  because  the  Cathedral  happens 
to  stand  on  the  way  of  passers-by  that  there  are  always 
many  worshippers  inside  the  building,  but  chiefly  owing 
to  the  sacredness  of  the  famous  ikon  of  the  "  Mother 
of  God  of  Kazan,"  which  the  Cathedral  contains. 
The  devout  people  believe  it  to  have  miraculous  power, 
and  therefore  come  to  pray  before  it  at  all  times. 


214  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

The  first  appearance  of  this  "  miraculous "  ikon 
is  linked  with  the  conquest  of  Kazan  under  Ivan  the 
Terrible,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  also  with  the 
conversion  of  the  Moslem  Kazan  Tartars.  The  miracles 
attributed  to  the  ikon  spread  its  fame  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Russia,  and  therefore  it  is 
hardly  to  be  wondered  at  that  Peter  the  Great  had 
the  image  brought  to  his  new  capital,  where  he  built 
a  chapel  for  it.  It  was  under  Alexander  I.,  however, 
that  the  present  cathedral  was  built,  and  dedicated 
to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  "  the  Mother  of  God  of  Kazan." 

On  the  outside  walls  of  this  beautiful  building  are 
eighteen  inscriptions  of  texts  in  large  bronze  gilded 
letters,  some  weighing  as  much  as  fifteen  poods  each.* 
The  texts  are  chosen  from  the  Magnificat  and  other 
verses  dealing  with  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Over  the  doors 
are  verses  from  the  Psalms,  such  as,  "  Enter  his  gates 
with  praise,"  On  the  Eastern  side  of  the  wall  is  a 
large  ikon  of  the  Virgin  with  the  Child.  All  around 
the  Cathedral,  as  well  as  over  the  entrance  to  the 
colonnade,  are  beautiful  bas-reliefs,  representing 
scenes  from  the  life  of  our  Lord,  the  largest  of  which 
is  over  the  apse,  in  which  stands  the  chief  altar,  and 
depicts  tlie  entry  of  Christ  into  Jerusalem.  In  niches 
stand  the  figures  of  John  the  Baptist,  St.  Andrew 
(whom  the  Russians  claim  as  their  special  Apostle), 
Saint  Vladimir,  the .  Christianiser  of  Russia,  and 
Alexander   Nevski,    the    Patron   Saint   of   Petrograd. 

The  big  gates  of  this  Cathedral  are  an  exact  copy 
of  the  beautiful  gates  of  the  Cathedral  of  Florence. 

Within  the  building  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  homely 
devout ness,  an  atmosphere  much  less  solemn  than  that 

*A  pood  i.i  361bs. 


KAZAN  CATHEDRAL  IN  PETROGRAD.   215 

prevailing  in  the  vast  and  stately  Cathedral  of  St. 
Isaac's.  This  difference  may  be  due  also  to  the  fact 
that  this  Church  is  closely'  linked  with  the  nation's 
history,  especially  with  the  Napoleonic  War.  For 
instance,  within  this  Cathedral  lies  buried  the  famous 
old  Prince  Koutousov-Smolenski,  the  Broussilof  of 
that  invasion,  and  the  beautiful  Ikonistas,  the  screen 
of  the  Sanctuary,  is  also  a  memento  of  that  war,  as 
well  as  a  token  of  the  devotion  displayed  by  the  Don 
Cossacks.  In  the  year  1812,  those  troops  took  from 
the  French  many  hundredweights  of  silver  which  the 
latter  had  robbed  from  German  churches,  and  by  the 
Cossacks'  request,  Field-Marshal  Koutousov  wrote 
to  the  Metropolitan  of  Petrograd  that  the  Cossacks, 
in  sending  him  this  silver,  "  were  thereby  returning  to 
God  what  had  been  stolen  from  Sanctuaries  devoted 
to  Him." 

The  great  general  also  passed  on  the  express  wish 
of  the  Cossacks,  that  statues  of  the  four  Evangelists 
be  made  of  this  silver  and  placed  in  the  Cathedral. 

The  devout  soldiers  did  not  realise  what  perplexity 
their  request  would  bring  the  architect,  for  the  Church 
was  ready — everything  had  been  planned  carefully — 
and,  therefore,  it  was  impossible  to  find  place  anywhere 
for  the  four  Evangelists,  and  yet  the  wish  of  the  brave 
Cossacks  demanded  consideration. 

Before  anything  could  be  decided  upon  the  Emperor 
Alexander  went  abroad.  Events  followed  rapidly 
upon  one  another — great  issues  were  being  decided, 
and,  therefore,  it  was  not  until  1824  that  the  question 
of  the  Cossack  silver  was  again  brought  to  the 
Emperor's  notice,  the  suggestion  being  to  place  the 
unwelcome  Evangelists  in  the  cupola. 


2i6  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

The  Emperor  died  before  this  latter  plan  was 
definitely  passed,  and  the  matter  of  the  Don  Cossack 
silver  was  again  shelved.  It  was  some  ten  years  later 
that  by  the  order  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  I.  the  silver 
was  at  last  utilised,  not  for  making  figures  of  the 
four  Evangelists,  but  for  the  Ikonistas.  This  frame- 
work for  holding  the  sacred  ikon  forms  the  screen 
which  divides  the  Sanctuary  from  the  body  of  the 
Church. 

The  weight  of  the  silver,  which  the  pious  Cossacks 
had  dedicated  to  the  Cathedral,  was  1,520  poods, 
and  though  the  quantity  was  so  great,  the  artists  to 
whom  the  execution  of  this  costly  frame  was  entrusted 
required  eighty  more  poods.  Even  that  did  not 
prove  sufficient,  and  by  the  time  the  Ikonistas  was 
completed,  it  had  taken  three  thousand  poods  (about 
48  tons  av.). 

This  costly  frame  contains  the  most  sacred  images, 
particularly  that  of  the  Virgin  of  Kazan,  which  has 
been  lavishly  decorated  by  the  devout  people  with  such 
a  wealth  of  expensive  jewels  and  gems,  that  it  repre- 
sents the  value  of  a  hundred  thousand  roubles 
(^10,000). 

As  I  walked  from  shrine  to  shrine,  I  came  up  to  a 
large  crucifix,  very  beautifully  worked,  standing  by 
itself  in  a  niche.  Underneath  was  the  inscription  : 
"  This  Golgotha  has  been  erected  as  a  memorial  of  the 
miraculous  event  of  October  1888." 

Unable  to  remember  for  the  moment  what  this 
event  was,  I  asked  one  of  the  Church  officials  what  had 
happened  at  that  date.  He  looked  at  me  with  un- 
feigned surprise,  and  uttered  merely  one  word — 
"  Borki." 


The   Kazan  Cathedral  in  Petrograd. 


Interior,  Ikon  of  the  Mother  of  God. 


Fate  p.  2i6. 


KAZAN  CATHEDRAL  IN  PETROGRAD.  217 

Of  course  !  It  all  came  back  to  me  in  a  flash — the 
excitement  when  the  news  reached  the  capital  that  an 
attempt  had  been  made  on  the  Emperor  Alexander 
III. — a  bomb  having  been  put  on  the  railway  line. 
Part  of  the  Imperial  train  had  been  blown  up.  One 
of  the  eye-witnesses  of  this  accident  told  us  a  few 
days  later  of  the  Emperor's  wonderful  presence  of  mind, 
and  of  his  gigantic  strength,  thanks  to  which  he  was 
able  to  hold  up  the  roof  of  the  railway  carriage  with 
his  shoulders,  and  thereby  save  the  Empress  from 
being  crushed.  That  same  friend  also  told  us  how 
one  of  the  Imperial  children  had  been  thrown  into  a 
field  through  the  force  of  the  explosion,  and  that  when 
someone  came  to  pick  her  up,  the  frightened  little 
Imperial  personage  had  called  out  pitifully,  "  Oh, 
do  not  kill  me,  please  do  not  kill  me  !  "  Indeed, 
Borki  had  been  a  miraculous  event,  and  a  loving 
people  had  gladly  responded  to  Count  Heiden's  appeal 
to  put  up  a  memorial. 

Until  the  centenary  of  the  great  deliverance  from 
the  invasion  of  Napoleon  four  years  ago,  many  of  the 
special  treasures  and  trophies  of  that  war  had  been 
kept  in  the  Kazan  Cathedral,  but  in  1912  these  were 
transported  to  Moscow. 

Among  these  trophies  were  flags  and  standards — 
eleven  were  German  ones — Prussian,  Bavarian,  Saxon, 
and  Westphalian.  Somehow  one  feels  that  it  would 
be  very  nice  if  also  at  the  present  time  such  flags 
could  be  taken  from  the  enemy. 

Among  the  most  cherished  trophies  and  treasures 
kept  in  the  Cathedral  were  the  keys  of  eight  fortresses 
and  seventeen  towns.  How  happy  the  hearts  of  the 
Russian   soldiers   would   be   if   to-day   they   in   their 


2i8  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

turn  could  get  the  keys  of  these  same  towns — Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  Dresden,  Leipzig,  Cassel,  Cologne,  Liibeck, 
Hamburg  and  Bremen — were  this  the  case  there  would 
be  little  chance  for  the  German  Fleet  to  do  mischief 
either  in  the  Baltic  or  elsewhere.  How  gladly,  how- 
ever, on  the  other  hand,  would  the  Russians  be  could 
they  return  to  the  Belgians  the  keys  of  Mons  and 
Namur. 

Thus  the  Kazan  Cathedral  of  Petrograd  has  been 
closely  linked  with  that  great  national  event,  the 
Napoleonic  Invasion,  and  it  is  only  natural  that  the 
people  should  to-day  go  and  pray  in  that  Church,  for 
is  not  Russia  again  invaded  by  a  ruthless  foe  ? 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

A  Farewell  Visit. 

Before  my  departure  for  Kiev,  Count  Olsoufiev  had 
informed  me  that  he  had  been  sent  for  by  the  Tsar, 
evidently  to  report  on  his  journey  to  the  Allied 
countries.  In  fact  there  seemed  to  be  a  perpetual 
going  of  Ministers  and  other  men  to  Headquarters — 
"  Stafka,"  as  it  was  called.  The  Count  also  intended 
going  on  to  Kiev  and  hoped  that  I  would  wait  for  him 
there.  This  was,  however,  impossible,  and  conse- 
quently, to  my  great  regret,  I  did  not  see  him  again 


A   FAREWELL   VISIT.  219 

before  leaving  for  England.  I  looked  out  in  vain 
for  him  at  Mogilev,  our  trains  passing  each  other. 

When  I  went  to  pay  my  farewell  visit  to  the  Minister 
of  Justice,  I  was  asked  to  wait  as  he  had  not  yet  arrived 
at  his  office.  This  time  it  was  in  the  Chief  Office  of 
the  Police  that  I  had  to  spend  half  an  hour,  and  my 
thoughts  were  involuntarily  drawn  to  the  many 
unhappy  people  whose  fate  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Police.  I  felt  truly  thankful  that  I  sat  there  as  a 
British  subject,  and  also  that,  in  days  gone  by,  when 
I  was  still  a  Russian  subject,  I  had  never  come  into 
close  quarters  with  this  dread  department. 

Various  officials  began  to  drop  in  in  a  very  leisurely 
manner,  as  if  there  were  no  hurry  in  this  world.  At 
last  I  was  asked  to  step  into  the  study  of  the  Minister, 
who  was  so  kindly  receiving  me  at  this  early  hour 
instead  of  letting  me  wait  for  his  regular  reception 
day.     He  greeted  me  with  a  smile. 

"  I  am  so  happy  that  Mr.  Khvostoff  has  liberated 
120  exiles,"  I  said. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,"  he  replied,  "  that  we  are  very 
glad  to  do  all  in  our  power  to  help  ?  I  told  you  so, 
and  you  see  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  know  what 
British  opinion  and  feeling  is  on  this  point.  I  knew 
the  late  Mr.  Stead  and  had  many  a  talk  with 
him." 

I  then  related  to  Mr.  Makaroff  my  interesting 
experiences  of  the  last  few  days,  and  of  my  visit  to 
Mogilev ;  then  I  added :  "  I  am  to  see  Mr.  Stuermer, 
who  is  going  in  a  few  days  to  headquarters,  and 
I  will  ask  him  to  bring  the  question  of  the  amnesty 
at  once  before  His  Majesty." 

"  I  too  am  going  there  very  soon,"   the  Minister 


220  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

said,  interrupting  me,  "  and  I  also  will  lay  this  matter 
before  His  Majesty." 

I  was  amused  at  this  eagerness,  for  he  and  his  col- 
leagues were  known  to  hold  extreme  reactionary 
views  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  saw  in  this  compliance 
a  desire  to  please  the  British  Ally. 

Our  talk  was  practical,  and  he  assured  me  that  the 
matter  of  the  revision  had  been  put  in  hand. 

"  But  it  cannot  be  done  in  a  few  days,"  were  his 
parting  words. 


CHAPTER   LV. 

A  Telephonic  Conversation. 

The  evening  before  my  departure  from  Petrograd 
I  rang  up  one  of  my  new  acquaintances  in  the  Ministry 
of  the  Interior  to  say  farewell.  "  You  must  write 
down  your  inpressions,"  he  said  through  the  tele- 
phone. "  You  have  been  everywhere  and  you  have 
seen  everybody." 

"  Oh,  yes,   I  will  do  so." 

"  Please  send  me  a  copy." 

"I  do  not  think  I  can  do  that — not  at  present 
at  any  rate." 

Then  he  said  :  "  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  the  British  people  will  want  to 
remain  friends  with  Russia  once  the  war  is  over  ?  " 


A  TELEPHONIC  CONVERSATION.  221 

"  Of  course  they  will,"  I  replied  ;  "  you  have  no  idea 
how  keen  they  are  on  Russia." 

"  I  do  know  that,  but  we  also  know  that  British 
friendship  can  only  be  retained  if  we  introduce 
reforms." 

"  There  you  are  right ;  in  England  ones  does  expect 
changes  for  the  better  after  the  war." 

"  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  Russia  will  be  able 
to  stand  alone,"  he  remarked,  "  and  it  is  better  for 
her  to  be  under  British  than  German  influence." 

Encouraged  by  this  sympathetic  attitude  I  made 
use  of  my  opportunity  and  said  to  my  invisible  friend 
at  the  other  end  of  the  telephone  :  "  There  are  many 
things  which  should  be  introduced  into  Russian 
political  life — for  instance,  the  responsibility  of 
Ministers." 

"  That  won't  come  for  ages,  for  our  Ministers  only 
think  of  grasping  after  power  and  of  keeping  it  when 
they  have  got  it." 

"  Then  there  is  Poland.  Why  does  not  the  Russian 
Government  speak  out  plainly  as  to  its  intentions  ? 
Germany  and  Austria  on  their  side  are  promising  so 
much." 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  with  genuine  regret  in  his  voice 

"  Now  I  want  to  ask  you  one  more  thing,"  I  said. 
"I  am  told  that  the  Jews  are  Russia's  bitter 
enemies." 

"  Yes,  so  they  are,  and  everywhere  they  are  making 
things  difficult  for  us  with  regard  to  foreign  loans." 

"  Then  would  it  not  be  much  better  for  Russia 
to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  Jews  and  enjoy  their 
friendship,  than  to  keep  them  from  their  rights  and 
privileges  and  suffer  from  their  ermiity  ?  " 


222  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"So  it  would,  but  the  Jewish  question  is  a  very 
compUcated  one." 

Surely  this  was  a  strange  conversation  to  be  carried 
on  over  the  telephone  ;  but  I  was  glad  to  have  my  say, 
and  to  find  that  my  partner  at  the  other  end  of  the 
line  was  in  full  sympathy  with  Reform  ideas. 

It  was  a  hopeful  sign  that  among  the  younger  officials 
even  of  the  Ministry  of  the  Interior  there  were  men 
with  liberal   ideas. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

An  Interrupted  Journey. 

The  day  I  arrived  in  Petrograd  from  England  I  had 
to  give  in  my  passport  to  the  chief  dvornik  who 
"  inscribed  "  me  at  the  nearest  Police  Station,  and  each 
time  I  left  Petrograd  he  handed  the  passport  back  to 
me.  A  few  days  before  my  departure  for  England, 
I  said  to  the  hall  porter  :  "  Please  tell  the  chief  dvornik 
to  let  me  have  my  passport,  I  am  leaving  on  Wednes- 
day." 

"  Sloushayas,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  which  means 
"  Your  orders  shall  be  carried  out." 

The  next  day  the  passport  was  duly  handed  to  me. 

It  is  not  so  simple  just  now  to  leave  Petrograd  ; 
the  luggage  has  to  be  handed  in  at  the  Finnish  Railway 
Station  between  8  and  ii  p.m.  on  the  eve  of  departure  ; 


AN   INTERRUPTED  JOURNEY.  223 

the  custom  officers  search  through  every  trunk,  examine 
the  books,  look  at  every  picture  postcard,  and  will  let 
pass  only  those  on  which  nothing  is  written.  My  cousin 
very  kindly  did  this  business  for  me,  and  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  took  my  passport  with  him.  "  Everything 
is  in  order  "  he  was  told,  and  the  next  day  at  an  early 
hour  we  left  the  house,  and  as  no  izvoshtchiki  were 
about,  took  the  workmen's  tram.  My  friend  who  was 
going  to  travel  with  me,  met  me  at  the  station.  I 
bade  a  last  farewell  to  my  kindly  cousin  and  host, 
and  then  the  train  started. 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  speech,  and  standing  at  the 
window,  I  looked  out  on  the  country.  The  sky  was 
cloudy,  but  suddenly  part  of  a  lovely  rainbow  appeared 
with  its  fair  arch  thrown  across  the  clouds.  To  me 
it  was  a  symbol — for  on  the  dark  sky  of  Russian 
national  life,  acts  of  justice  and  clemency  would  be 
like  a  rainbow — the  promise  of  a  better  day.  But 
was  it  to  be  merely  a  little  bit  of  a  rainbow,  and  not 
the  full  glorious  arch  ? 

Half  an  hour  later  our  train  passed  Pargalovo.  To 
the  right  was  a  chain  of  low  hills  on  which  stood 
peasant  houses,  which  formed  the  original  village,  and 
small  wooden  houses — datchas — inhabited  during  the 
summer  months  by  families  from  the  capital.  To  the 
left  was  a  vast  stretch  of  moorland. 

How  it  all  came  back  to  me  as  I  looked  at  the  broad 
expanse.  The  mad  rides  accompanied  by  the  chival- 
rous cousins — the  exhilarating  gallop,  with  its  sudden 
interruption  because  the  saddle  had  twisted  round. 
What  fun  we  had  on  these  rides — I  and  the  boys. 
Where  are  they  now  ?     The  one  a  prisoner  of  war  in 


224  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

Germany  ;  the  other  a  plodding  official  doing  honest 
work  in  far  away  Turkestan. 

The  train  was  nearing  Levashovo.  For  the  last  time 
I  looked  at  the  scenery  so  deeply  impressed  on  my 
memory,  for  were  not  childhood's  happy  days  spent 
in  that  beautiful  spot  ?  My  friend  stood  beside  me  at 
the  window  and  to  her  I  pointed  out  the  places  of  special 
interest.  There  on  that  slope  we  used  to  find  the  best 
lilies  of  the  valley  and  Solomon's  seals ;  in  that 
clearance  we  found  mamura  and  the  blossom  of  the 
cranberry,  and  there,  under  those  trees  grew  pyrola 
uniflora  and  sweet-scented  orchids,  and  deeper  in  the 
forest,  on  soft  cushions  of  moss,  the  delicate  Linea 
Borealis.  The  meadows  past  which  our  train  was 
gliding  were  intersected  by  ditches,  and  there  flashed 
into  my  mind  our  mischievous  delight  when  one 
particular  governess  proved  herself  utterly  incapable  of 
jumping  across  them. 

Timid  governesses  and  those  who  loved  to  take  walks 
on  high  roads  or  smooth  paths  had  a  bad  time  with  us. 
Those  fared  well,  however,  who  enjoyed  doing  what 
we  loved  to  do.  They  would  go  through  the  forest 
"  to  hunt  for  toadstools "  as  our  French  governess 
used  to  call  our  expeditions  after  fungi  ;  or  to  pick 
wild  strawberries  in  the  clearing  of  the  forest.  They 
would  come  out  with  us  in  the  broiling  heat  of  the 
summer  at  noontide  to  collect  beetles— all  those  bright 
winged  insects  which  feast  on  leaf  and  flower,  or  the 
beautiful  stag-beetles  which  crawl  on  the  trunks  of 
newly  felled  and  barked  pine  trees  all  oozing  with  rosin, 
exhaling  a  sweet  smell  while  the  atmosphere  is  vibrat- 
ing in  the  heat. 

As  the  train  drew  in  to  the  station  of  Levashovo 


AN   INTERRUPTED  JOURNEY.  225 

I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  old  Finnish  driver,  the  last 
of  his  kind — one  of  those  who,  in  days  gone  by,  used 
to  hire  out  their  little  hardy  horses  to  us,  to  be  driven 
as  fast  as  we  liked.  How  we  loved  to  drive  out  for 
picnics — drive  on  these  little  springless  carts  deep  into 
the  forest  over  rough  tracks.  How  thoroughly  we 
enjoyed  ourselves — in  those  jolly,  happy  days  of 
care-free   youth  ! 

Pointing  to  the  derelict  cart  and  driver  I  told  my 
friend  how  once  a  relative  who  did  not  know  where 
our  country  house  was,  had  merely  said  to  one  of  the 
drivers  at  the  station  :  "  Take  me  to  the  kindest  lady 
of  this  neighbourhood."  She  was  taken  straight  to 
our  house,  but  this  was  not  surprising,  for  had  not 
someone  called  my  mother's  home  the  "  Inn  of  the 
Golden  Heart  " — as  true  a  description  as  ever  was 
given. 

An  houi  and  a  half  later  our  train  slowed  down — 
we  had  arrived  at  the  Finnish  frontier.  An  ofhcer, 
accompanied  by  gendarmes,  passed  along  the  train  and 
every  passenger  handed  him  either  passport  or  permit, 
the  latter  if  merely  travelling  between  some  Finnish 
Datcha  place  and  Petrograd. 

Convinced  that  my  passport  was  in  perfect  order, 
I  handed  it  to  the  officer,  who  carefully  opened  the 
ponderous  English  document,  and  then  suddenly 
addressed  me  :  "  Your  passport  is  not  in  order." 

"  In  what  way? "  I  asked,  utterly  taken  aback  at  this 
unexpected  turn  of  affairs. 

"  You  have  no  permission  from  the  police  in  Petro- 
grad to  leave  Russia." 

My  fellow  passengers  listened  with  unfeigned  interest 
and  visible  sympathy  to  this  conversation. 


226  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

"  What  would  you  suggest  that  I  should  do  ?  " 
I  asked,  "  for  if  I  do  not  go  on  to-day,  I  lose  all 
the  sleeping  cars  I  have  ordered  in  Sweden  and 
Norway." 

"  Even  if  I  let  you  pass  this  frontier,"  answered 
the  officer,  "  you  would  be  kept  back  at  Torneo.  The 
best  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  return  at  once  to  Petro- 
grad." 

"  Could  I  not  telegraph  for  a  permit  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  that  you  can  do,"  he  replied,  "  but  the 
wire  will  have  to  be  censored  and  you  will  not  receive 
an  answer  for  many  hours." 

"  Then  can  I  telephone  to  the  Premier  ?  " 

"  No,  that  is  impossible,"  said  the  officer,  "  for  since 
the  war  began  we  have  no  telephonic  communication 
with  the  Capital." 

The  humour  of  the  situation  appealed  to  me  so 
keenly  that  I  could  not  feel  angry.  There  had  been 
no  hitch  in  my  whole  journey  up  and  down  Russia, 
and  here  was  I  turned  back,  and  why  ?  Because  one 
sentence  had  not  been  written  in  my  passport.  The 
chief  dvornik  was  the  culprit,  and  the  official  who  had 
looked  at  my  passportthe  previous  night  had  evidently 
not  remarked  the  omission. 

"  If  you  cross  the  station  quickly,  you  can  catch  a 
train  and  you  should  be  able  to  arrange  your  affairs 
to-day,"  advised  the  officer,  who  quite  realised  where 
the  fault  lay — but  law  is  law.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done,  and  taking  an  armful  of  rugs  and  pillows — 
my  luggage  had  already  been  bundled  out  by  the 
porter  the  moment  the  verdict  as  to  my  passport  had 
been  given — we  quickly  crossed  the  station  building 
and  jumped  into  the  train  for  Petrograd. 


AN   INTERRUPTED  JOURNEY.  227 

It  was  only  a  two  hours'  run  to  the  Capital.  We 
drove  directly  to  the  English  Embassy  and,  following 
the  advice  of  one  the  Secretaries,  drove  to  the  Gradon- 
atchalnick  of  Petrograd.  I  shewed  my  passport, 
and  was  told  that  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  go  to  the  Police 
Station  nearest  to  where  I  had  stayed,  and  the  matter 
would  be   settled   immediately. 

As  I  drove  up  at  my  cousin's  house,  the  hall  porter 
stared  at  us  and  exclaimed  :  "  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Why  did  the  dvornik  not  see  to  my  passport  pro- 
perly ?  "  I  asked.  "  Please  go  and  fetch  him  at 
once." 

No  dvornik,  however,  was  to  be  found.  Taking 
pity  on  me,  the  porter  came  with  me  to  the  Police 
Station,  which,  luckily  for  us,  was  across  the  road. 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is  no  reason  whatever  against  your 
leaving,"  said  the  officer  on  duty,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  I  received  my  passport  duly  stamped.  One 
sentence  only  had  been  added. 

"  \\Tiy  did  you  not  get  my  passport  rightly  signed?  " 
I  asked  the  dvornik  when  that  individual  had  at  last 
turned  up. 

"You  merely  said  you  were  leaving,  Baryinia; 
how  was  I  to  know  that  you  meant  for  England  ? 

At  6  o'clock  that  same  evening  we  were  again  at 
the  frontier.  The  same  officer  who  had  turned  me  back 
in  the  morning  passed  through  the  carriages  to  look 
at  the  passports.  With  a  feeling  of  inward  triumph 
I  handed  him  mine — he  glanced  at  it,  made  a  slight 
bow,  and  with  a  smile  remarked  :  "  Everything  is  in 
order  ;  now  will  you  please  step  into  the  office  and  fill 
in  the  necessary  papers."  While  I  was  writing  answers 
to  the  various  questions  as  to  whence  and  whither,  a 


228  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

young  man  was  being  cross-examined.  His  answers 
were  rather  vague.  Evidently  something  was  not 
quite  above-board,  for  suddenly  I  heard  the  officer 
say  with  a  stern  ring  in  his  voice  :  "  We  cannot  let  you 
cross  the  frontier." 

This  was  a  very  different  tone  from  that  in  which  I 
had  been  spoken  to  when  my  passport  did  not  prove 
to  be  in  order. 

The  dvornik's  mistake  cost  me  thirty  roubles  and 
made  me  lose  my  sleepers. 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

A  Centre  of  Mercy. 

Just  before  coming  to  Torneo  every  window  in  the 
train  was  carefully  closed  and  all  the  carriage  doors 
locked.  No  passengers  were  allowed  to  leave  the  train 
before  the  passports  had  been  taken  from  them  by 
the  gendarmes.  I  was  still  in  my  compartment  when 
suddenly  one  of  the  gendarmes  came  up  to  me  :  "  Are 
you  Gospoja  Gow  ?  "  (Mrs.  Howe)  he  asked. 

"  Surely  it  is  not  again  my  passport,"  flashed  through 
my  mind  as  I  said,  "  Yes,  I  am,"  to  the  representative 
of  military  law  and  order. 

"  His  Imperial  Highness  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg 
has  telegraphed  about  you,  and  Count  Shouvalov 
is  expecting  you." 


A  CENTRE  OF  MERCY.  229 

What  could  it  mean  ?  I  followed  the  gendarme 
to  the  Count,  who  informed  me  that  he  had  received 
orders  to  show  me  the  barracks  in  which  the  totally 
disabled  prisoners  of  war  were  lodged  on  their  arrival 
from  Germany,  via  Sweden.  I  was  very  pleased  to 
have  this  opportunity  of  seeing  this  organisation, 
and  the  Count,  as  the  representative  of  the  Prince 
in  this  very  important  though  dull  place,  kindly 
showed  me  all  there  was  to  be  seen.  The  barracks 
were  wooden  buildings— clean  and  comfortable.  In 
several  small  rooms  I  saw  mentally  afflicted  men, 
who,  for  this  reason,  had  been  sent  back  to  Russia. 
It  was  a  most  pathetic  sight  to  see  these  wrecks  of  man- 
hood. I  was  struck  by  their  looks  of  hopeless 
dulness.  They  gazed  at  me  with  stony  eyes.  Had 
the  horrors  of  captivity  snapped  beyond  repair  the 
spring  of  buoyancy  and  hope  ? 

In  the  next  barracks  I  found  a  party  of  men  who 
had  arrived  only  the  previous  day.  The  large,  light 
and  airy  room  was  filled  with  rows  of  bedsteads.  Next 
to  the  door  two  men,  propped  up  with  pillows,  were 
reclining    on    the    beds — both    with    amputated    legs. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  some  new  legs,"  said  the  Count 
genially,  "  and  you  will  be  able  to  walk  quite 
well." 

"  Not  only  that,"  I  added,  "  but  from  what  I  read 
about  the  wonders  of  artificial  limbs,  you  will  even  be 
able  to  run  and  dance." 

The  men  looked  at  us  with  a  happy  smile. 

"  What  fine  shirts  you  have  on,"  I  remarked. 

"  Yes,  very  different  from  the  rags  we  were  given 
at  the  German  camp,"  the  one  answered,  while  the 
other  added  :  "  Nothing  was  too  bad  for  us  to  wear." 


230  REAL  RUSSIANS.       , 

With  unfeigned  pleasure  the  invalided  soldier  looked 
down  upon  his  new  red  shirt. 

On  the  next  bed  lay  a  whole  pile  of  shirts  in  all 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  upon  the  weary  invalids, 
whose  existence  was  gray  and  monotonous  and  whose 
clothing  had  been  drab,  these  bright  shirts  of  themselves 
must  have  had  a  cheering  influence. 

"  By  order  of  the  Prince  the  invalids  are  not  sent 
to  Petrograd  the  day  they  arrive,"  the  Count  informed 
me.  "  His  Imperial  Highness  wishes  them  to  have 
a  thorough  rest  and  break  in  their  journey.  They  all 
get  a  bath  and  are  dressed  in  new  clothing,  and  you  see 
how  pleased  they  are." 

We  walked  through  several  other  barracks — all  spot- 
lessly clean.  I  was  struck  by  the  general  aspect  of 
friendly  cheerfulness  which  pervaded  the  buildings. 
Lastly  the  Count  took  me  into  a  barrack  where  the 
medical  and  nursing  staff  were  having  their  dinner. 
After  having  been  introduced  to  doctors  and  nurses, 
I  was  invited  to  share  their  frugal  meal.  The  Count 
asked  to  be  excused  for  the  time  being,  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  I  had  been  pleased  with  what  I  had  seen. 

"  Indeed,  very  much  so,  and  I  am  going  at  once 
to  send  a  telegram  to  His  Imperial  Highness  to  tell 
him  how  delighted  I  am  with  everything,"  I  said, 
as  I  thanked  the  Count  for  his  kindness  and  the 
trouble  he  had  taken. 

Concentrated  suffering  is  witnessed  in  this  Centre 
of  Mercy — suffering  especially  acute  because  there  is 
no  hope  of  restoration  to  health.  Sympathy,  at  all 
events,  is  shown  to  these  sad-faced  soldiers  by  the 
devoted  staff,  and  kindly  and  tender  care  is  taken  of 
them. 


A  CENTRE  OF  MERCY.  231 

It  is  no  sinecure  to  be  on  duty  in  this  outpost  in 
the  far  north  on  the  frontier  of  a  neutral  country, 
where  a  camp  of  barracks  has  sprung  up  to  supply 
the  need.  It  is  a  dull  place — no  great  events  happen 
in  this  out-of-the-way  corner — there  is  merely  three 
times  a  week  the  repetition  of  the  same  sad  scene, 
the  disembarkation  or  embarkation  of  totally  disabled 
soldiers.  Perhaps  the  greatest  hardship  for  the  staff 
is  to  witness  suffering  they  cannot  alleviate.  Yet, 
possibly,  the  friendly  welcome  and  the  gift  of  the 
brightly  coloured  shirts  may  act  soothingly  on  sore 
and  weary  hearts. 

The  matron  kindly  accompanied  me  to  the  railway 
station,  where  I  had  once  more  to  fill  in  a  paper  with 
answers  to  many  questions.  Afterwards  I  sent  a  tele- 
gram to  the  Prince  of  Oldenburg,  in  which  I  expressed 
appreciation  of  his  kindness  towards  me  and  admira- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  everything  is  arranged 
for  the  comfort  of  the  mutilated  heroes.  I  realised 
that  everything  was  being  carried  out  here  according 
to  the  orders,  and  in  the  spirit  of  the  Chief  of  the 
"  Ministry  of  Mercy." 

I  wrote  the  telegram  in  the  large  waiting-room  where 
travellers  to  and  from  Russia  have  to  spend  many  weary 
hours.  At  one  of  the  tables,  eating  his  dinner  with 
great  relish,  sat  quite  a  young  lad. 

"  Who  is  this  boy  that  so  many  people  speak  to 
him  ?  "  I  asked  the  Russian  Consul,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing me  writing  my  telegram. 

"  That  boy  has  just  returned  from  Germany,  where 
he  was  a  prisoner  of  war,"  the  Consul  replied.  "  This 
brave  little  chap  joined  the  Army  at  the  very  beginning 
of  the  war.     He  was  only  twelve  years  old  when  he  was 


232  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

taken  prisoner.  Now,  after  having  kept  him  in  captiv- 
ity for  two  years,  the  Germans  have  sent  him  back 
as  of  no  value  to  them." 

It  was  time  to  leave  Torneo  to  cross  by  ferry  boat 
to  Haparanda.  At  the  entrance  to  the  pier  were 
gendarmes  and  before  a  small  box-office  stood  a  queue 
of  passengers  to  whom  their  passports  were  being 
returned.  I  received  mine  out  of  turn  as  the  Consul 
asked  for  it.  It  was  given  me  without  demur — this 
time  there  was  no  flaw  in  it. 

My  last  hour  on  Russian  territory  (though  on 
Swedish  soil)  was  spent  in  the  Russian  Consulate  where 
the  indefatigable  Consul  related  to  me  many  interest- 
ing things.  He  enumerated  also  some  of  the  tasks 
which  had  fallen  to  his  share  since  the  war  had  made 
Haparanda  the  crossing  place  to  Russia.  Apparently 
it  is  due  to  the  energetic  action  of  this  official  that  the 
train  now  runs  right  to  the  shore  and  not,  as  until 
recently,  merely  to  Karungi,  whence  passengers  had  to 
drive  to  the  ferry. 

Amongst  the  trains  which  leave  Stockholm  for 
the  far  north  is  one  which  the  Swedes  call  the  "  Russian 
train."  It  is  the  ambulance  train  fitted  out  with  every 
care  by  the  Swedish  Red  Cross,  which  acts  as  the 
generous  intermediary  for  tlie  exchange  of  wounded 
prisoners. 

There  ought  to  be  an  atmosphere  of  hope  in  this 
lonely  little  northern  place,  for  to  these  afflicted  people 
— to  totally  disabled  soldiers  of  both  belligerents — 
the  homeland  has  come  within  reach. 

For  the  Russians,  at  any  rate,  it  lies  just  across  the 
narrow  strip  of  water  which  separates  Haparanda 
from  Torneo. 


UNAVOIDABLE  TOPIC  OF  CONVERSATION.    233 


CHAPTER   LVIII. 

An  Unavoidable  Topic  of  Conversation. 

I  MUST  admit  that  at  the  beginning  it  amused  me 
to  hear  the  word  "  sugar  "  mentioned  wherever  I  went 
in  Russia,  but  very  soon  I  realised  what  a  deep  tragedy 
it  really  implied.  I  heard  the  topic  of  sugar  discussed 
in  train  and  tram,  in  drawing-room  and  kitchen, 
in  palace  and  hut,  and  not  a  single  newspaper  did  I 
open  without  coming  across  some  article  on  the  burning 
question  of  sugar.  I  was  told  how  the  sugar  kings 
were  keeping  the  sugar  back  in  order  to  raise  the  prices  ; 
how  the  banks  were  hoarding  it  up  ;  or  again,  I  was 
joyfully  told  that  the  Head  of  the  town  had  bought 
trucksful  of  sugar,  and  soon  there  would  be  an  end 
of  the  sugar  famine  in  Petrograd. 

I  passed  grocers'  shops  and  on  door  or  window  I 
read  a  notice,  "  No  soft  sugar  to  be  had."  As  to  loaf 
sugar,  it  is  months  since  any  has  been  sold.  I  watched 
many  a  queue  of  men,  women  and  children  standing 
on  the  pavement  waiting  for  certain  shops  to  sell 
sugar.  For  hours  they  stand  there,  patiently  waiting 
for  their  turn  to  come,  no  one  trying  to  push  forward ; 
quietly  and  in  order  they  stand  and  wait,  perhaps 
only  to  be  told  that  all  the  sugar  has  been  sold  out. 
If  lucky,  they  are  able  to  buy  one  pound,  for  even  at 
these  specially  licensed  shops  no  more  than  this  could 
be  sold  at  one  time.     All  the  more  surprising  then, 


234  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

to  see  some  persons  carrying  heavy  parcels  of  sugar, 
or  to  be  shown  sacksful  of  the  precious  stuff  in  private 
storerooms,  and  even  to  be  offered  lump  sugar,  which 
is  not  supposed  to  exist,  in  some  private  houses  for  my 
tea. 

"  Oh  !  this  can  be  done,"  was  a  phrase  I  so  often 
heard  an  influential  man  use  on  the  telephone,  when 
asked  all  sorts  of  favours.  It  is  herein  that  the  tragedy 
lies,  that  "  everything  "  can  be  done  by  those  who 
know  how.  With  regard  to  sugar,  you  must  know 
someone  who  buys  stores  for  hospitals,  etc.,  and  he  will 
let  you  have  sugar,  much  sugar. 

It  was  the  poor  for  whom  I  felt — for  they  live  on 
tea,  and  in  order  to  relish  the  clear,  weak  beverage, 
they  must  have  sugar.  They  do  not  put  it  into  their 
tea,  as  is  done  in  other  countries,  but  bite  off  a  wee  bit 
of  the  lump  sugar,  keep  it  in  their  mouth,  and  then 
drink  the  tea.  To  them,  therefore,  soft  sugar  is  of  no 
use  whatever.  At  present  they  are  buying  boiled 
sweets  instead,  and  Marie  Antoinette's  suggestion, 
"  Let  the  people  eat  cake,  if  there  is  no  bread  to  be 
had,"  is  being  carried  out  in  Russia,  for  when  unable 
to  get  sugar,  the  poor  people  buy  sweets. 

Oh,  the  pathos  of  it  all  !  To  see  the  harassed 
expression  of  the  small  shopkeeper  as  he  remarked  to 
me,  "  What  are  we  to  do  ?  There  is  no  sugar.  Boiled 
sweets,  even  the  cheapest,  cost  70  to  80  kopeks  a 
pound  "   (about  is.  gd.). 

I  was  struck  by  the  look  of  despair  on  a  peasant's 
face  as  he  walked  into  a  chemist's  store  in  Kiev. 
"  For  Christ's  sake,"  he  said,  "  can  you  sell  me  a  pound 
of  sugar  ?  " 


UNAVOIDABLE  TOPIC  OF  CONVERSATION.    235 

"  W^at  has  suddenly  got  into  your  brain  ?  I  don't 
sell  any  sugar,"  replied  the  astonished  chemist. 

"  Well,  I  hoped  you  might  do  so,  for  I've  been  in 
every  shop  in  Kiev,  and  cannot  get  even  a  pound," 
and  sighing  deeply,  the  old  man  went  out  into  the 
street. 

That  same  night  I  dined  with  some  very  rich  and 
influential  people.  To  my  surprise  someone  belonging 
to  a  neutral  country  broke  suddenly  into  the  conversa- 
tion with  : 

"Is  it  true  what  I'm  told,  that  it  is  so  difficult  to 
get  sugar  in  Russia  at  present  ?  " 

I  had  to  laugh  when  I  heard  this  question.  Was 
I  never  to  have  a  single  meal  or  to  go  anywhere  with- 
out hearing  about  sugar  ?  I  told  my  hostess  that  this 
topic  seemed  to  pursue  me  everywhere,  when,  pointing 
to  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  party,  she  remarked : 

"  May  I  introduce  you  to  one  of  our  sugar  kings." 

"  So  you  are  one  of  those  miscreants,"  I  remarked, 
and  he  laughed  amusedly,  as  he  said,  "  Please  don't 
be  too  hard  on  us.  It  is  not  our  wickedness,  but  merely 
the  congestion  of  traffic  and  the  lack  of  rolling- 
stock." 

Another  guest,  to  whom  politics  and  diplomacy  were 
easier  subjects  to  understand  than  the  sugar  market, 
looked  very  puzzled,  and  turning  to  me,  he  said,  "  I 
wish  I  could  explain  the  whole  matter  to  you,  for  I 
have  been  told  the  exact  causes  for  the  sugar  famine, 
but  they  seemed  to  me  exceedingly  complicated." 

Soon  after  I  read  an  article  in  a  leading  daily,  which 
suggested  that  the  cause  of  this  crisis  was  the  immense 


236  REAL   RUSSIANS. 

demand  made  upon  the  supply  for  the  army.  There 
is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  this,  for  the  fifteen  million 
Russian  soldiers  consume  a  far  greater  amount  of  sugar 
per  head  than  if  they  had  remained  tillers  of  the 
soil.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only  people  who  do  not 
complain  or  grumble  about  sugar  are  the  military, 
and  an  officer,  who  was  returning  after  many  months 
at  the  front,  remarked  to  me  with  surprise,  "  How 
is  it  that  everybody  seems  to  be  talking  about  sugar  ? 
We  have  never  lacked  any  at  the  front."  • 

One  day  in  a  railway  carriage  I  heard  a  lady  say  to 
her  companion,  "  Surely  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  been  able  to  buy  sugar  ?  Wherever  did  you 
get  it  from  ? 

"  Oh  !  quite  simple.     I  heard  that  in  the  town  of 

X sugar  was  for  sale,  so  I  took  train  and  went 

there." 

It  is  quite  worth  while  spending  a  good  many 
roubles  on  fares  and  travelling  for  hours,  if  thereby  one 
can  get  sugar.  The  number  of  people,  however,  who 
are  able  to  get  sugar  by  hook  or  by  crook  is  very  limited, 
and  therefore  the  beautiful  fruit  must  rot,  for  both  jam 
and  stewed  fruit  require  sugar.  Daily  the  old  servant 
who  was  waiting  on  me  regaled  me  with  jeremiads  on 
sugar,  and  I  never  met  a  group  of  people  who  were  not 
talking  about  it.  Criticism  was  rife,  and  all  sorts  of 
solutions  for  the  problem  were  proposed.  The  most 
practical  remark  I  heard  about  this  matter  was  from  a 
tram-conductor. 

"  The  only  thing  to  do  is  for  the  people  to  get 
hold  of  the  speculators  and  hang  them  on  lamp- 
posts." 


COLD  WATER.  237 

He  merely  voiced  what  all  the  people  feel.  Nor  aie 
they  far  wrong,  for  the  speculators  are  getting  rich, 
and  the  sooner  they  are  caught  the  better.  "  U  nas  v' 
Rossii  "  (With  us  in  Russia) — everybody  used  this 
phrase  when  speaking  of  this  crisis — with  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders  and  a  hopeless  voice  of  discontent.  At 
last,  I  really  began  to  think  that  matters  were  worse 
in  my  beloved  country  than  anywhere  else,  and  I  did 
so  until  I  came  to  Sweden  and  Norway.  There,  how- 
ever, I  heard  just  the  same  talk  about  sugar,  either 
that  there  was  none  to  be  had,  or  that  one  could  buy 
only  one  pound  at  a  time,  and  that  at  two  or  three  times 
the  price  it  cost  in  Russia. 

I  returned  to  England,  and  one  of  the  first  things 
my  servant  told  me  was  that  sugar  could  only  be  bought 
a  pound  at  a  time.  I  laughed  when  I  heard  this,  for  it 
seemed  that  after  all  Russia  was  not  the  only  country 
where  sugar  is  difficult  to  get. 


CHAPTER   LIX. 
Cold  Water. 


A  FEW  days  after  my  arrival  in  London  I  was  dining 
with  some  Russian  friends  at  my  club.  They  wanted 
to  know  my  news — I  told  them,  and  produced  the 
letter  from  the  Minister  of  Justice.  Instead  of  the 
expected  joy,  I  was  chilled  by  the  dead  silence  with 


238  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

which  my  news  was  received.  Later,  one  of  them  re- 
marked :  "  One  hundred  and  twenty  !  that  is  a  mere 
drop  in  the  ocean — think  of  the  thousands  who  are 
in  Siberia  ! 

The  next  day  a  paragraph  appeared  in  the  paper 
to  the  effect  that  the  Minister  of  Justice  had  seen  his 
way  to  Hberate  120  exiles.  Mr.  Khvostoff's  letter  to 
me  was  reprinted  in  several  dailies. 

A  few  days  later  I  received  the  following  letter  from 
one  of  my  aforementioned  friends  : — 

"  We  have  wired  the  news  of  M.  Khvostoff's  letter, 
and  the  news  of  the  release  of  the  120  exiles  to  the 
Bourse  Gazette,  of  Petrograd.  I  saw  Khvostoff's  letter 
in  the  Manchester  Guardian.  The  whole  press  brought  the 
news,  and  I  hear  from  a  friend  who  arrived  from  Paris 
this  morning  that  the  French  press  have  also  mentioned 
the  matter  of  the  release  with  much  satisfaction.  .  .  . 
As  to  Russian  opinion,  you  must  realise,  my  dear 
friend,  that  intellectual  Russia  has  suffered  too  much 
from  deliberate  injustice  to  get  any  satisfaction  on 
philanthropic  grounds.  We  are  very  happy  for  the 
120  individuals,  but  their  release  does  not  change 
the  arbitrary  system,  and  a  change — namely,  an 
amnesty  for  some  class  of  political  offence — is  the  only 
thing  that  would  really  matter."  .  .  .  (Just  what  I 
had  urged  upon  Makaroff !).  "  I  am  telling  you  all  this 
in  order  to  explain  the  Russian  attitude  to  Khvostoff's 
letter  ;  we  do  not  rely  upon  bureaucratic  promises 
and  diplomatic  charity,  which  helps  to  save  appearances 
without  actually  doing  away  with  the  evil  ..." 

My  friend  who  wrote  this  letter  had  evidently  not 
realised  that  Makaroff  had  promised  to  work  out  that 


"Not  Expected" — The  Exile's  Return. 

[By  N.  E.  Repine. 


Face  p.  238. 


COLD  WATER.  239 

very  thing,  viz.,  an  amnesty,  dealing  with  exiles 
according  to  the  paragraphs  under  which  they  had  been 
condemned.  I  was  hopefully  awaiting  the  fulfilment 
of  his  promises.  In  consequence  of  the  letter,  I  wrote 
to  him  from  London  asking  him  to  expedite  matters, 
but  Government  wheels  work  slowly  ;  however,  I  re- 
ceived the  following  letter  from  the  secretary  of  Mr. 
Stuermer  : — 

"  The  President  of  the  Council  of  Ministers 
charges  me  to  inform  you  that  all  that  it  is  possible  to 
do  concerning  the  cause  you  have  pleaded,  will  be  done 
by  His  Excellency." 

In  the  Russian  section  of  The  Times  of  October  28th, 
there  appeared  a  note  to  the  effect  that  the  Prime 
Minister  recently  made  a  representation  to  the  Council 
of  Ministers  in  which  he  declared  that,  recognising 
the  impracticable  character  and  inexpedience  of  the 
law  relating  to  exile,  he  would  propose  to  repeal  it. 
The  Minister  of  Justice  hesitated  to  regard  as  timely 
the  entire  repeal  of  the  exile  system  as  such. 

Surely  this  was  the  moment  for  the  Ministers  to 
bring  forward  an  amnesty  by  category  as  promised 
so  faithfully. 

A  few  weeks  later  another  of  those  frequent  changes 
of  Ministers  took  place — Stuermer  fell,  and  with  him 
Makaroff  and  Khvostoff.  However  genuine  the  inten- 
tions of  these  men  may  have  been — and  they  should 
have  the  benefit  of  the  doubt — their  power  was  gone. 

In  spite  of  all  these  disappointments,  I  felt  most 
strongly  that  my  journey  had  not  been  altogether  in 
vain,  for  when  on  my  return  I  reported  to  the  Russian 
Ambassador   all   my   experiences,   and   concluded   by 


240  REAL  RUSSIANS. 

quoting  Sir  George  Buchanan's  sympathetic  and  en- 
couraging words,  Count  Beckendorff  assured  me  that 
he  echoed  Sir  George's  sentiments.  The  fact  that  these 
two  highly  honoured  representatives  of  the  Alhed  Powers 
were  so  pleased  with  the  result  of  my  efforts  was  to 
me  the  best  proof  that  something  had,  after  all,  been 
accomplished,  and  that,  humanly  speaking,  owing 
to  Count  Olsoufiev. 


Tales  from  Russian 
History 

As  there  seems  to  be  a  widespread  desire  to  know 
something  more  of  Russian  History,  sets  of  Lan- 
tern Slides  have  now  been  prepared  to  ilhistrate 
the  most  stirring  incidents  as  told  in  "  Real 
Russians,"  by  Sonia  E.  Howe;  pubhshed  at  6/- 
net  by  Messrs.  Sampson  Low,  Marston  &  Co., 
Limited. 

These  slides  may  be  purchased  or  can  be  sup- 
plied on  hire.  Terms,  with  copies  of  the  Book, 
up'an  application  to 

Messrs.  NEWTON  &  CO., 

37,    KING    STREET, 
COVENT    GARDEN  W.C.  2. 


Pike's  Fine  Art  Press,  Ltd.   47  and  48,  Gloster  Road,  Brighton. 


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